


One Moment is all it Takes

by Snoffy



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Did someone order a character study for Zhao? No?, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Smaller age difference than canon, Suicide, Too bad I already wrote it, Yes you read that right, Yue (Avatar) Lives, Zhao (Avatar) Is An Asshole, Zhao redemption?, Zuko's hair redemption starts earlier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 92,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28249902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snoffy/pseuds/Snoffy
Summary: One stroke of bad luck is enough to drag Zuko careening into a different path fate laid out.OrZhao catches Zuko on his ship after he sneaks aboard. This sets the wheel of destiny rolling in a direction neither could have ever anticipated. With the formation of a tentative alliance, it seems almost impossible for anything more to bud. Key word: almost.
Relationships: Iroh & Zhao (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Jeong Jeong & Zhao (Avatar), Zhao/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 188
Kudos: 161
Collections: A:tla





	1. One Moment

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot for the life of me tell you why I like trash man Zhao so much. But what I thought was going to be a one-chapter fic for a random idea turned into an absolute monster so there we go.
> 
> Just a few notes:  
> \- The age gap between Zhao and Zuko will be lessened by quite a bit just 'cause the canon age difference is kinda squicky to me. But if cross-gen is your thing then you can go ahead with that since his age won't be explicitly stated.  
> \- Zhao is still a flaming garbage man but it's such an inherent part of his personality.  
> \- I've got a decent chunk of the fic written but expect sporadic updates haha.  
> \- Finally, I know that this is a rarepair and not a lot of people even like Zhao himself. So to the people out there with the same tastes, I hope you enjoy this ;)

The night air was crisp and getting colder yet as they were sailing closer to the frigid waters surrounding the Northern Water Tribe day by day. Zuko stood at the railings on the upper deck of Admiral Zhao’s flagship; his arms leaning against the cool metal and his helmet off as he relished being able to breathe the fresh air without the mask getting in the way. It was a while yet before he was scheduled to go see his uncle. It had not been easy remaining undercover on Zhao’s ship. He had been forced to sleep in unused storage closets to minimize detection and ate whatever his uncle was able to smuggle from his own meals or from the galley.

It was fine though. He could bear whatever conditions were forced upon him for as long as it took until they finally reached the Northern Water Tribe. There, he would be free to hunt down the Avatar again and restore his honour. Zuko absentmindedly traced the cuts and bruises on his face with one hand. His injuries from the explosion had gotten marginally better but still looked far worse than they felt. The bastard Zhao was probably laughing his head off in glee over getting rid of his rival using such dishonourable methods. So lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t notice the clunking footsteps coming closer and closer up to him.

“What do you think you’re doing out here?”

Zuko jolted, not expecting the very same voice he had been imagining to suddenly speak up behind him. He whirled around, his mind screaming at him half a second too late that he had his helmet off, he was standing in the wan light of the moon, Zhao was going to recognize him –

It was too late. He could see the emotions playing across Zhao’s face as if they were in slow motion. Shock first; his eyes widened; mouth partly open as they froze in the middle of a reprimand. Then the tumultuous roll of anger and shadowed by disappointment. Zuko watched Zhao’s eyebrows draw together, the beginnings of a snarl creeping across his features, a spark of fury erupting in his eyes.

Zuko was slammed up against the wall in an instant. His ribs screamed in protest, not yet healed from the concussive force inflicted upon him from his attempted assassination.

“You’re alive?” Zhao hissed lowly, one of his broad hands captured both of Zuko’s wrists and pinned them above his head. The other was wrapped tightly around his neck, squeezing with just the right enough pressure that the threat of choking the air out of Zuko was palpable, but not enough to inflict any real damage.

“You tried to have me killed.” Zuko glowered back defiantly.

“Yes, I did.” Zhao smirked, leaning in slightly to pin him with his cold, cruel eyes. “I admit, the pirates had me convinced they could carry out the job. But I suppose letting others do the dirty work for you always has that slight risk involved. I should have suspected a little cockroach like you would find some way of surviving. I guess it’s up to me to make sure your tragic little accident stays an accident, _hm_?”

Zhao heated up his hands to punctuate his threat, vindictive pleasure curling up in his chest as the simmering fire brimmed below the surface of his skin. He couldn’t kill him right here, right now; not when the brat could scream and get someone’s attention, but the little princeling didn’t know that. Zhao just needed to subdue this wretch until he could deal with him in private. It wouldn’t do for someone to come running and see the admiral attempt to murder a member of the royal family; treasonous or not, the pleasure of dealing with a disgraced royal was entitled to the Fire Lord only. That, and if Zuko was here then it meant Iroh must know of his nephew’s presence –

Zhao immediately let his hands cool. General Iroh may have become a dithering old fool in his time with his banished nephew, but he was still the Dragon of the West, the general that nearly felled Ba Sing Se after six hundred days of relentless warfare. His military advice was still invaluable to Zhao right now and he couldn’t afford to lose it just yet.

But it also couldn’t have been a happy coincidence that he was so eager to join his mission immediately after the supposed death of his beloved nephew, not when he’d barely had time to grieve. Of course he seemed to have gotten over Zuko’s death with grace. Because he knew his nephew was still alive. His frequent trips to the galley now made so much more sense. As did slipping away immediately after dinner, only to reappear late in the night from spirits knew where. All those times he must’ve been off taking care of his nephew. And Zhao hadn’t thought anything of it. The general was well-known for his voracious appetite, so he turned a blind eye to the platters of snacks enough for two squirrelled from the kitchens, nor did he think to question the man’s frequent night wanderings, instead chalking it up to one of the man’s many eccentrics.

Zhao was many things. But he wasn’t stupid. If he disposed of Zuko, even in the most subtle way he could, General Iroh would definitely notice and hunt the prime suspect down if it was the last thing he did. And Zhao had too many of his own ambitions left to oversee before he even thought about dying.

“General Iroh smuggled you on board my ship.”

He tested the waters. On the off chance the prince had snuck aboard entirely on his own, he could do away with him without needing to worry about the repercussions. But alas, no such luck. The princeling stiffened and couldn’t quite hide the panicked look fighting to worm across his face. And he had the gall to keep his smarmy little trap shut, as if he hadn’t already given everything away to Zhao.

“Do you even have a plan?” Zhao scoffed. He kept his hands clenched where they were, but loosened the one on Zuko’s neck ever so slightly, so that he could speak a little easier.

“Of course I do,” Zuko snapped defensively.

Not likely. The little traitor had never been renowned for his prowess in strategy.

“And pray tell, what is this glorious plan of yours? You’re stuck on my ship, and assuming you weren’t foolish enough to be caught by me, you have no resources nor allies to secure yourself back to the Fire Nation. Your uncle can only get you so far, and I doubt even he has the means of getting you out of your little situation unscathed.”

“None of that matters once I have the Avatar.” The little fool still held onto his delusions of a warm welcome home?

“And then what? You miraculously secure the Avatar and commandeer a ride home? This entire fleet is under my command. I can still have you detained at any time for breaching the terms of your banishment. You have no leverage against anyone here.” Zhao leaned in, hissing sharply. “This is my domain, my playing field. You never think ahead and consider the outcomes. Your impulses have greater sway than any semblance of logic you may have. It just goes to show that you haven’t changed since your little mishap three years ago. Still a rash, insolent, _fool_.”

Zuko roared in fury, practically spitting sparks at him. He thrashed against Zhao’s grip and looked one second away from tearing his head right off his shoulders. But Zhao tightened his grip and stared dead into his eyes.

“But, perhaps, I may be feeling merciful enough to lend a hand.”

The young prince abruptly stopped his incessant attempts at freeing himself and stared at him in surprise. Then he scoffed, derision apparent in his features.

“You don’t know the meaning of mercy.”

Zhao smirked. “I haven’t had you hauled off to a prison rig yet, have I? Perhaps we can work out a little deal. I have great plans for the siege of the North. If you agree to… offer your assistance, I may be inclined to offer you aid in return.”

“And why should I believe anything you say? You tried to kill me.” Zuko asked disbelievingly, his one good eyebrow raised.

“I admit I may have been a little too hasty. You understand, don’t you? Finally having that pesky little airbender in your grasps, only to have him snatched away. I acted impulsively –“ - Zuko snorted at that - “but it seems that destiny has a different idea in mind.” Zhao continued, graciously ignoring the interruption. “Clearly, I underestimated you if you were able to survive the explosion and somehow infiltrate my ship, undetected only till you had a stroke of bad luck. My destiny is to lead the Fire Nation’s triumph against the Northern Water Tribe, to make up for the embarrassment that was the last invasion eighty-five years ago; one of the few and only times the Fire Nation had ever suffered such a humiliating defeat. I have no doubt that the Avatar will be at one of the only places left in the world where he can find a waterbending master. I also have no doubt he will do everything in his power to disrupt my plans.”

He paused and softened his voice, speaking again in a lower and almost gentle tone, “Therefore I need someone with the experience to track down that little pest and ensure he doesn’t interfere with what I have in store.”

It didn’t matter if the prince was successful or not in capturing the Avatar. His primary goal was to tear away the abilities of the waterbenders, leaving them vulnerable to a full-on assault. He needed a distraction, just long enough for him to slip in and deal with the moon spirit without the Avatar intervening. If the prince caught the Avatar, it was an easy win for Zhao as well. If he didn’t, he could just as easily catch up to the brat and claim the glory himself. That, and it would get General Iroh off his back if his nephew was bound to Zhao.

“And what do you have planned, exactly?” Zuko asked warily, glancing questioningly at him in askance.

“If I haven’t told my own trusted men yet, why would I tell you?” Zhao replied easily.

Indignance flashed across Zuko’s face, but Zhao was quick to placate him.

“You will maintain your focus on detaining the Avatar. In return, I offer safe passage back to the Fire Nation. We will share the glory of his capture, and I will forgive all crimes you have committed against the Fire Nation, including trespassing the borders and freeing the Avatar.” That wary look didn’t alleviate in the slightest.

“ _Think_ ,” Zhao emphasized insistently. This required a delicate touch after all. “It’s your only secure method for things to go your way. Without me, what would you do? Drag the Avatar onto a piece of driftwood and float your merry way back to Fire Nation waters? You’d have to do all that and pray he doesn’t escape your frankly weak clutches.”

“And what’s stopping you from keeping the glory all to yourself? I don’t need your help capturing the Avatar. It’s something I’ve been doing all by myself this whole time.” Zuko snarled in his face. Zhao almost felt a moment of pride for the prince for using his brain for once. Perhaps the boy still has the capability to learn the fine art of flowery political court language.

“You’re not much in a position to make demands, but you can imagine that any harm that comes to you by my hand will backfire on me in the form of your most esteemed uncle. Furthermore, upon the Avatar’s capture, I will allow you to send a messenger hawk directly to your father detailing your part in subduing the Avatar. I will co-sign the letter and seal it myself. You’ll have my personal commendation for your acts.”

Zuko was clearly torn. He just needed one more little push. A promise that he will uphold his end of the deal.

“I swear on my honour.”

Zuko’s head snapped up in surprise. Swearing on your honour was the solemnest way to give your word in the Fire Nation. It was never to be taken lightly, but Zhao seemed serious; his face unflinching as he stared Zuko down, no mirth or jest present in his eyes.

“You lost your honour after our Agni Kai when you tried to attack me from behind.” Zuko informed him coldly. There was that familiar flash of rage again. It was oddly reassuring to Zuko. Familiar was good. He didn’t have any idea what to make of Zhao’s sudden cooperation and attempts to be helpful. It just wasn’t in the man’s nature unless he had ulterior motives. But as quickly as the flare of anger appeared, it was snuffed out and replaced by a spark of cold mirth and an oil-slick smile.

“And you lost your honour in an Agni Kai chamber three years ago, so it seems that we’re on equal footing, aren’t we?” He damn near purred those words into his face, taunting and smug in that infuriating way which always made Zuko seethe and want to reach out and _burn_ Zhao’s sideburns right off his smarmy face. He didn’t want to work with this manipulative rat-viper, but what was the alternative? He hated to admit it, but Zhao was right. All cards were in the admiral’s hands. Either he forged this alliance with him, or Zhao finds some other way to dispose of him. And knowing the other man, he’d find the most demeaning way to snuff him out and leave him dead and dishonoured.

“Fine, damnit. I’ll capture the Avatar and you go off gallivanting on your own mission. You will personally commend my success to my father and see my safe return to the Fire Nation. No harm will come to my uncle either.” Zuko quickly tacked on the last part. He couldn’t trust Zhao to not use Uncle as leverage against him. After so many run-ins with Zhao, he was intimately familiar with Zhao’s liberal use of underhanded tactics, as well as his innate ability to wield loopholes to his advantage.

But the curl of unease in his gut didn’t quell in the slightest when the man only smiled like a cat that caught the sparrowkeet. Zhao took one large, deliberate step away from him, releasing his wrists and neck as he did so. Zuko gingerly rubbed his sore wrists tiredly, letting blood circulate back to his tingling muscles.

“Very well. Then we have a deal.” The predatory gleam in Zhao’s eyes seemed to shine even brighter in the dim light of the moon.

* * *

They made their way down a narrow hallway, with Zuko having shoved his helmet safely back on, hiding his identity yet again. Zhao refused to let him see Uncle tonight, citing that he’d rather be present for all their interactions from now on. Zuko couldn’t say he didn’t entirely mind; his head was still reeling from what happened and felt that seeing his uncle so soon would make him spiral into doubt and fear all over again.

“You’ll be acting as my personal guard from now on,” Zhao explained, leading them to his personal quarters. “So you’ll need to stay close to me at all times. This includes staying in my room. I will not have you conspiring with your uncle or anyone else. If I find you sneaking off, I have no qualms announcing to everyone that we have a stowaway on board.”

“You don’t need to keep your eye on me.” Zuko glowered, “I’ll keep my word so long as you keep yours.”

Zhao waved him off with a flippant hand. “It’s for peace of my own mind. Besides, wouldn’t you rather have an actual sleeping space? And regular meals? I doubt you’ve been getting such things with General Iroh having to keep you like a stray cat on the ship.”

Zuko chewed on his lip in frustration and said nothing. It was true of course, but he wasn’t exactly happy hearing his precarious situation described to him. Zhao suddenly snorted in amusement, prompting Zuko to look at him quizzically.

“I honestly have no idea how you haven’t drawn attention to yourself yet. You’re clearly much shorter than the actual men on the ship.” Zhao noted, giving him a pointed scan in addition to a pompous smirk. Zuko barely reached his chin in height and his frame wasn’t anywhere near close to Zhao’s own broad width. It was almost comical how he was meant to appear as his personal guard when Zhao looked like he could smear Zuko into the floor if he toppled over him.

Zuko scoffed. “Maybe your men aren’t as competent as you thought.”

“Or they mistook you as one of the women.” Zhao brushed off the barb easily enough. He gestured for Zuko to enter his quarters first and locked the door behind him. They were rather lavish quarters, as he’d expected for someone like Zhao, who demanded nothing less than what he perceived he deserved.

In the far-left corner of the room was Zhao’s bed. A gigantic monstrosity big enough for two people to sleep in and still have enough space to afford for a little sprawling. On the opposite side of the room were two portholes overlooking the vast, black expanse of the ocean. Just below the portholes was situated a large mahogany desk, upon which were scattered piles of official documents. The metal walls were sparsely decorated. On one of the walls was pinned a world map with pins jabbed into familiar locations. Locations which, Zuko realized, marked the exact route he had been sailing as he was chasing after the Avatar. The bastard had been tracking him this whole time!

Said bastard gestured dismissively at him and drawled, “There’s a spare futon you can lay out on the floor. Blankets are in the closet. You’re free to use my personal washroom but I _will_ check on you if you do not come out within a reasonable timeframe.”

Zuko ignored all of that and turned sharply towards him, nostrils flaring with barely concealed rage and fingernails digging deep into his palms.

“You were following me.” He bit out, pointing accusingly at the wall.

Zhao glanced at the map Zuko’s finger was aiming at and gave a noncommittal hum. He shrugged, as if interfering with Zuko’s one and only chance to go home was no big deal to him.

 _‘It isn’t,’_ Zuko seethed internally, _‘he’s an opportunistic rat who sniffs out any chance to exploit others. He doesn’t give a single fuck who he’s screwing over.’_

“Why do the work yourself when someone is already doing it for you?” Zhao shrugged disparagingly.

“You had no right.” Zuko snarled. “Hunting the Avatar was not your objective. It was mine! It is mine!”

Zhao looked unabashed and entirely unapologetic. “I did it in the interest of the Fire Nation and our most esteemed Fire Lord. There’s no point in throwing a little tantrum about it now. We made a deal, remember? I won’t interfere with whatever genius schemes you come up with anymore.”

The heat building up in his palms was painstakingly pushed down, but it still didn’t stop Zuko from exhaling steam. He was placing all his faith in this deal and he couldn’t afford for it to fall through, no matter how much he dearly wanted to throw a fireball at Zhao’s smug face. Instead, he turned his focus in arranging his little sleeping space, making it a point to place the futons as far away from Zhao’s own bed as possible. He fervently hoped for no more talk for the rest of the night. The whole ordeal had been exhausting and left him emotionally taxed. But of course, luck was never on his side. Zhao sniffed the air and gave him a disgusted look.

“You know, you really should consider shaving off that hair of yours. Burnt hair is not a pleasant smell to fall asleep to at all.”

“And whose fault is that?” Zuko asked incredulously. Zhao did not look sheepish at all.

“I can lend you a blade if you wish,” Zhao neatly glossed over his completely justified accusation breezily, “honestly you’d be doing yourself a favour. I really can’t see why your Uncle would let you keep that frankly atrocious phoenix tail. Then again,” he side-eyed Zuko, “he does tend to have rather… _questionable_ taste.”

In that moment, Zuko couldn’t really tell you what prompted him to do what he did next. Perhaps his frustration and anger finally boiled over, or he had an inane childish desire to give in and show Zhao that he could be taken seriously; but he had growled, grabbed the dagger hidden in his pocket, twisted his hair taut in one wrist, and sliced through his phoenix tail at its base in one rapid movement. For once, Zhao didn’t have a smart aleck remark on the tip of his tongue. He had stared at Zuko wide-eyed, as if he couldn’t believe that Zuko had taken his suggestion to heart. But he quickly recovered, _like the bastard he is_ , and mockingly nodded his approval.

“And that acrid atrocity has finally met its end,” he said sarcastically, “congratulations, you look slightly less hideous than usual.”

“Shut up,” Zuko snapped heatedly.

“Still, I suppose you wouldn’t want to leave that unsightly tuft of hair on the back of your head.” Zhao got up and slowly stalked towards Zuko, as if he were approaching a wild animal. “I can shave that off for you if you’d like.”

“I don’t want you with anything sharp near me, thanks.” Zuko snorted.

“I’m just watching out for whatever looks you have left,” Zhao shrugged, hands raised placatingly. “What’s the harm? Your uncle would murder me on the spot if I happened to even accidentally nick you. And we’ve got our little alliance going on. In fact, why don’t we call this a trust exercise?”

Zuko was tired, fed-up and frustrated. He just wanted Zhao to leave him alone, but he knew if he didn’t go along with the whims of the man, Zhao would continue to pester and wheedle him into doing whatever he said anyway. He was too vexed to care, nor did he have the energy to argue back.

“Fine!” Zuko snapped, “Just get it over with quickly.”

“As you wish, Highness.” Zhao bowed mockingly low and sauntered off to the bathroom to grab the razor. He returned to see Zuko already seated on the floor, looking down at his lap despondently.

“We’ll need to tell Uncle about this whole… thing.” Zuko said, hand gesticulating half-heartedly between them when he saw Zhao return. The other man settled behind him, pressing against his back slightly as leaned over him, cupping Zuko’s head with one hand shaving with the other. Zhao hummed in agreement, and Zuko could almost feel the low rumble in Zhao’s chest reverberate into his back. He shivered imperceptibly, unused to being so physically close to someone like this.

“At breakfast then, tomorrow morning. I’ll send for him. Good food does wonders to soothe that man’s soul.” Zhao said distractedly into his ear, curving the razor to get at the sides. Zuko wanted to protest, slightly ruffled that Zhao would assume food could curb Iroh’s sharp mind and focus. But the words died on his tongue when he cast his mind back to all those times the highly experienced military strategist fell victim to food in the most inopportune situations. Sometimes he had a sneaking suspicion that Zhao could have easily tempted Uncle onto his ship with the promise of a good roast duck. Although, the man was probably aware of that, what with all his dinner invitations whenever they happened to cross paths with Zhao.

They sat in silence for a moment more as Zhao swiftly shaved off the last sprigs of hair. A few stray strands fell around the curve of his ears. Zhao absentmindedly brushed them off, but when he touched the shell of Zuko’s burnt left ear, the prince reflexively grabbed his fingers.

“Don’t… don’t touch my scar.” Zuko said weakly, hating the way his voice came out feeble and subdued. He braced himself for a jeering remark, a reminder of how his father had taught him a lesson, or a jab at the physical deformity, but Zhao surprisingly did none of those.

“… Understood.” Zhao murmured quietly, carefully pulling away from his ear. Zuko blinked in shock. He hadn’t imagined that, had he? Zhao suddenly gaining some sort of empathy? He’d always known the man as cutting and cruel. Zhao had pointed out his scar countless times before, always with a smarting comment at the ready, always prepared to tear him down with barbed and poisonous words. He didn’t think that just because they’ve formed a tentative alliance, Zhao would be singing a different tune.

Zuko was suddenly made aware that he still had a hold on the calloused fingertips clutched tightly in his grasp. He faintly noted that Zhao’s fingers were thicker than his own, the padding worn and dry from the brine of the ocean and the breeze. Roughly hewn from no doubt endless handling of rigging and countless hours of firebending drills. He hurriedly let go and fought down the flush creeping up his cheeks.

To his credit, Zhao said nothing as he was allowed repossession of his own hand. He stood silently and headed towards his side of the room. Zuko remained where he was seated but heard the shuffling of clothes behind him that indicated Zhao was preparing for bed.

A few moments later, they were laid on their respective beds, tension lying heavily upon them. It was thick enough to slice with a knife and almost too suffocating to breathe through. But just as it was getting unbearable, Zhao’s voice cut through the stillness.

“So why the Blue Spirit?”

It wasn’t Zuko’s preferred way to fill the silence, but at least it seemed to ease to some of the tension stifling the air. He kept his gaze focused on the ceiling above him and replied, “I just happen to like _Love Amongst the Dragons_.”

“I never took you for one to enjoy theatre.” Zhao remarked. “But why specifically the Blue Spirit? Surely the symbolism doesn’t run so deep that you base an entire persona on a single character.”

“Do you not know the intricacies and absolute genius behind what is possibly one of the greatest plays ever written?” Zuko asked incredulously. “The Dark Water Spirit isn’t just a trickster; he embodies chaos and darkness itself. Yet for all his faults he unintentionally taught a valuable lesson to the Dragon Emperor by tipping the balance between the spiritual and mortal realm.”

“Forgive me for not wasting my precious time on plays,” Zhao snorted, “I spend my time on more meaningful matters.”

“Plays are not meaningless!” Zuko shouted indignantly, “Everything from the prop selection to costume design and variations in pitch contribute to deeper meanings and lessons that you can take to heart!”

It was almost hilarious watching the prince delve into an impassioned speech about some play Zhao didn’t have the energy to remember even the title of. Although it quickly became less amusing as the minutes passed and the prince was _still_ going on about how different cadences in the way the actors delivered their lines were related to the director’s interpretation of the character’s emotions.

“- and in the moment where the Dark Water Spirit curses the Dragon Emperor –“

 _‘I don’t particularly care,’_ Zhao thought, his eyelids feeling heavier and heavier by the second as the prince continued to yammer on.

“- most directors would choose for the actor to deliver those lines in a very rapid pace although it can be quite difficult to achieve when you want to keep the core essence of the iambic pentameter –“

Did the prince go on these spiels for his old crew as well? Agni have mercy on them then, for having to listen to that. Perhaps it was a new form of torture the prince had devised. He was almost impressed; he didn’t think Zuko had it in him. Zhao stifled a yawn; his eyelids were now in a perpetual half-lidded state. His limbs were starting to feel heavy and the familiar haze of sleep was now beginning to encroach upon the edges of his mind.

“- so really, this brings an interesting twist on how you could view the Dark Water Spirit. On one hand, he’d be perceived to have some feeling of remorse but on the other, he could be shown to delight in cruelty –“

Zhao’s eyes were closed now. If he had the energy or motivation to make the effort, he could tune out the inane rambling in the background. But it took far less effort to just snuggle ever so slightly into his pillow. Strangely enough, the prince’s chattering was oddly soothing. He gave one last deep sigh, and gradually fell asleep to the beginnings of what sounded like another speech on a different aspect of playwriting.

Zuko continued lecturing the obviously uncultured naval officer he had been roped into making a deal with, unaware that the man was now dead to the world. He didn’t really mean to get into one of his infamous ‘nerd rants’, as his former crew termed it (behind his back of course), but he couldn’t stop himself when there was someone who so clearly needed to be educated in the intricacies of fine arts.

“It does bring about the question on the true fallibility of a spirit’s intentions,” Zuko noted thoughtfully, “it’s really unclear the extent to which a relatively minor spirit can predict the path destiny has set forth and – “ a sudden snore cut him off mid-sentence. Zuko startled and whipped his head towards the lump on the other side of the room, barely outlined in the moonlight.

He felt… rather offended. An affronted look crept over Zuko’s face when he realized Zhao had fallen asleep and on top of it all, had the _gall_ to happily snore away when he was so _generously_ pointing out easily overlooked ideas proposed by _Love Amongst the Dragons_. But why should he care? He wasn’t here to make friends with a man that had literally tried to kill him a mere few days ago. Despite that, Zuko felt a slight flush of embarrassment rise over his cheeks when he realized he must’ve been rambling for a good while if the man had managed to fall into as deep a sleep as his snores indicated.

Zuko slowly curled up underneath his blanket and rolled onto his side so he was facing the cool metal wall rather than Zhao. After what had transpired over the evening, the exhaustion finally caught up with his body, fatigue settling deep into his bones. Zhao’s rumbling snores echoed throughout the room. Not nearly as voluminous as Uncle’s, but also even and rhythmic like the splash of the waves against the ship’s hull. It was disturbingly easy to fall asleep to, was Zuko’s last thought as he finally slipped into the throes of slumber.


	2. Dining with the Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two bros spending some quality bonding time on a ship together. We're gonna be having a little light-hearted fun with these two before things start taking a turn.

“Inform General Iroh he is invited to my personal cabin for breakfast today. We have much to discuss.” Zhao ordered a passing soldier. The soldier bowed and headed off, but not before giving a curious glance to the guard posted at Zhao’s side. The admiral was entitled to his own retinue of guards at his own disposal, but he rarely ordered any of them to remain at his side on board his own ship. Anyone serving under him knew how much he valued his personal space and solitude.

Once the messenger had scurried out of sight, Zhao turned to Zuko and waved dismissively at the table that had been set up in the middle of the room.

“You can wait there for now. Stay out of sight and don’t open your trap until your uncle gets here.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Zuko muttered, taking a seat obediently anyway. There wasn’t much heat in his voice, but he still felt the need to object just for the principle of it. He took off the helmet and exhaled shakily, steeling his nerves for the upcoming confrontation. Zhao remained posted at the door, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of perfect composure and serenity as he stood sentry for Iroh.

As soon as he heard knocking on the door, the tension in Zuko’s shoulders seemed to seep away marginally. Uncle had almost always been there with him whenever they had to deal with Zhao, and having him here now was more reassuring than he’d like to admit. As soon as the admiral opened the door and ushered the old man in, Iroh’s eyes immediately brightened with equal amounts of relief and concern when he spotted Zuko. 

“Zuko…” Iroh gasped, looking as if a great weight had just been alleviated from his shoulders. Despite his obvious relief, he maintained his distance and glanced warily at Zhao. “If I may ask, Admiral Zhao, what is going on here?”

“All in due time, General Iroh.” Zhao said stiffly, guiding him to the table. “Take a seat, we will talk over breakfast.” He paused. “I sent for ginseng. You’ve mentioned it was your favourite before.”

“You have an excellent memory, Admiral.” Iroh smiled congenially. “I insist you allow me to prepare the tea as a thank you for such attentive hospitality.”

Pretty words, but it wasn’t as if Zhao hasn’t resorted to such tactics himself.

“By all means,” Zhao replied, taking a seat opposite Zuko. The prince eyed his uncle as he settled down next to him and began preparing the tea with practiced movements, tipping out a precise amount of tea leaves into the ornate tea pot strategically positioned in front of the retired general. He seemed to be taking this strange situation extraordinarily well; but he was Uncle after all, and he was known for adapting to anything.

Breakfast was simple. Congee and assorted side dishes. They served themselves without speaking, only the clinking of the tableware filling the silence. The tension hung over them, heavy and stifling. Zuko had scarcely taken a few mouthfuls before Zhao started speaking.

“I caught your nephew with his helmet off last night while I was out for a stroll on the main deck,” he began, setting down his chopsticks. “We worked out a deal. Which is why he is not currently clapped in chains and wallowing in the prison rig.”

Iroh nodded carefully. “It was very kind of you to offer an alternative,” he said mildly, face giving nothing away. “What sort of agreement did you reach?”

“I will capture the Avatar and ensure he doesn’t interfere during the invasion of the Northern Water Tribe so Zhao can carry out his plans,” Zuko interjected, “and in return, he will provide passage and the resources needed to return to the Fire Nation with the Avatar in tow.”

Iroh’s brow furrowed. Zhao slid the dish of pickled radish closer to him and raised an eyebrow in invitation. The general slightly inclined his head in thanks and reached out for it with his chopsticks.

“What sort of plans do you have in mind, Admiral? I thought we had already discussed our main battle strategies over the past few days.” Iroh had a suspicious look on his face, and for good reason. Zhao wasn’t a man known for his subtlety in combat, after all. 

“I’m still working out the fine details of it,” Zhao replied, “you need not concern yourself over them. The point is, Prince Zuko and I have an alliance. His presence on board this ship will of course be kept under discretion. We have agreed that he is to pose as my personal guard during his time here. I recommend you carry out your own duties as normal, General, but I extend my invitation to join us for breakfast and dinner so you may check on your nephew. Is this agreeable to you?”

“That is a most gracious offer, Admiral. I will be more than happy to take you up on that.” Iroh said in an even voice. He poured out the tea and slid one of the cups over to Zhao, who took it and immediately lifted it to his lips. “I am admittedly concerned that you have Prince Zuko posted as a personal guard. Are you expecting him to fulfil the duties that come along with the position?”

“In order to keep up the guise in front of my men? Of course. Rest assured, General, that your nephew is unlikely to be exposed to any sort of danger. And even if he were… you should have trust in your nephew, he is quite capable of taking care of himself.” Zhao punctuated his point by staring Iroh straight in the eyes over the rim of his cup as he took a deep drink of his tea. Zuko blinked in surprise, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He’d always insisted he was self-sufficient, but he was usually met with consoling smiles and remarks. To hear it from someone else was an unfamiliar, but not entirely unpleasant change.

“I trust in his abilities,” Iroh assured carefully. “But would your men feel suspicious now that you are being shadowed by a guard?”

“My men know to hold their tongue,” Zhao stabbed an innocent bamboo shoot with more force than necessary. “And who are they to go against my orders?” He crunched down, eyeing Iroh meaningfully.

“My apologies, Admiral.” Iroh conceded. “Forgive me, I was merely trying to be cautious. However, may I speak to my nephew alone after breakfast? You see, I am most concerned for his health. He did not escape from the recent… accident, unscathed.” He nodded towards Zuko’s cut and bruised face. “You understand that he can be quite a stubborn young man and covers up any pain so he doesn’t worry his old uncle. He is especially stubborn in the company of others.”

Zhao returned his stare unflinchingly. Control was a fickle thing, Zhao noted in amusement. He’d laid out his terms as clearly as he could yet the Dragon of the West still felt the need to poke for any weaknesses in his conduct. Still, he supposed he could indulge in the old man’s request. An extension of an olive branch of sorts.

“Yes, most unfortunate that your nephew was caught in the crossfire of pirates. They do tend to hold grudges.” He smiled without teeth, hiding his fangs and aiming to look as sympathetic as possible. Soften the brows, relax the facial muscles, a small upturn of his mouth – not so much that it bordered joy, not too little that it toed disappointment. He knew it didn’t reach his eyes; one slip in his actor’s mask that he had never been able to perfect. “I’m quite finished with my food. You may have three minutes while I go call on someone to clean up.”

He left with one last shallow bow and smile.

* * *

As soon as Zhao was gone, Iroh immediately turned on his nephew and wrangled him into a tight embrace. Zuko patted his uncle’s back awkwardly, not daring to breathe too deeply as his ribs protested the loving crush he found himself entrapped in.

“Uncle,” he choked out, “it’s good to see you too but please,”

Iroh released his precious nephew slowly and studied him carefully, his eyebrows drawn together in worry as he raised a hand to run it over Zuko’s newly bald head.

“You shaved your hair?” He asked, looking nearly beside himself. “Nephew, are you…?”

“No, nothing like that.” Zuko assured. “It was just bothering me, is all. You know, the burnt hair smell, and the ends were singed so…”

“Alright, alright.” Iroh sighed in relief. “I was so worried for you. Nephew, you must be more careful. One day you will truly give this old man a heart attack.” He chuckled without humour and the worry in his eyes still brewed strong.

“I’m fine, Uncle.” Zuko mumbled. Guilt lapped at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize just yet. Maybe it was good that Zhao had caught him. Maybe it was better in the long run.

Uncle didn’t look convinced.

“I am worried, Nephew,” Iroh began carefully, “that this alliance you have formed with Zhao will not end up as advantageous to you as Zhao has made it seem.”

“I’m well aware he’s a slimy rat-viper,” Zuko snorted. Iroh looked slightly uncomfortable.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it in those terms, but –“

“Uncle, we both know that’s what you think too.” Zuko deadpanned. Iroh didn’t deny it but continued,

“- _but_ you must treat this cautiously,” Iroh pressed forward, “I’m sure you would never have involved yourself with Zhao unless you had no other choice but Nephew,” he stared solemnly into Zuko’s eyes, “watch yourself around him. He is an ambitious man, and not above exploiting others as he sees fit to reach his goals.”

Zuko hesitantly nodded. “I can take care of myself, Uncle. I can handle Zhao. I’ve done it before and I can do it again.”

Uncle looked like he wanted to say more, but abruptly closed his mouth when they heard the door swing open. Zuko hurriedly jammed the helmet back on his head.

“General Iroh, you may return to your duties. You,” Zhao nodded towards Zuko as two attendants scurried in and began clearing the table, “will be accompanying me to the main deck to oversee the morning firebending drills.”

Uncle cast one final look to Zuko before he stood, bowed to Zhao, and walked out of the room. Zhao stared after Iroh for a long moment before he turned back to tilt his head at Zuko as an indication to follow him as he spun on his heel to head towards the main deck.

“I typically only observe the morning drills,” Zhao explained as they navigated the twisting corridors, “my captains are responsible for leading their respective platoons. But considering that you are no longer under the instruction of your uncle for now, I may be inclined to run through the drills with you, as an act of my generosity. I trust you haven’t forgotten your forms?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything.” Zuko snarled back. The day had hardly started and already he was feeling thoroughly irked by the other man. “You’re better off worrying about yourself.”

“Well I suppose we’ll find out soon,” Zhao smirked, “I do suggest you curb that tongue of yours, also. Speaking in such a manner to your superior officer,” he tutted, “I’ve punished for less than that.”

“You’d punish someone for breathing wrong,” Zuko muttered. Zhao said nothing in response, although his infuriating smirk widened.

On the main deck, formations of firebending soldiers were already lined up in neat rows. They stood stock still at attention, disciplined in the way none of the members of Zuko’s old crew ever possessed, Zuko noted with envy. Zhao strolled his way up to the front of the platoons, brimming with the easy confidence of a seasoned leader. Zuko followed exactly one step behind, conscious of the questioning gazes on his back. He couldn’t see it, but the feeling near burned into his skin.

“You may notice that we are joined today by my personal guard,” Zhao announced, “who will be overseeing the morning drills with me from today onwards. Other than that, I expect nothing else to change.”

He eyed the awaiting soldiers with a stern gaze, a steely glint of warning sparking underneath.

“Captains, you may begin.”

At once, the higher-ranked officers situated in front of the ranks hollered out instructions, fluidly dropping into their stances. The heat rippling through the air from scores of soldiers firebending in unison quickly warmed up the cool of the morning.

“Disciplined, aren’t they?” Zhao smirked, turning to Zuko. “I run a tight ship. Nothing goes amiss while I’m on board. If I see any error, I _correct_ them. _Immediately_. That’s how you keep a whole crew in line. If you show no weakness, no tolerance for insubordination, this is what you get in reward.”

“My crew carried out their duties just fine,” Zuko said thinly, barely remembering to keep his voice down.

“Did they? A ragtag group of reject soldiers gathered by a disgraced general for a banished prince hardly seems like the most dutiful crew there is. And yet you tell me there were no talks of mutiny? They treated you as the commander with your due respect?”

“Shut up,” Zuko hissed, the familiar licks of heat beginning to swell beneath his palms. “My uncle is not disgraced, and I sailed three years with them without any major issues, didn’t I?”

“Touching how you defend your uncle first,” Zhao chuckled in amusement. “But take it from me. Your uncle was a general, he led his troops over land. Things are different on the sea. People get more antsy far faster; the mind can only be settled so much when you’re stuck on a drifting piece of metal cramped together with who knows how many other people days on end. It’s just how it is. Everyone’s got their vices of course, but a crew like mine has conduct.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Officer Naku subtly leaned towards his fellow recruit Ming during a moment of reprieve after finishing a set of katas. “Is it just me or does the admiral seem to be in a better mood than usual?”

“Maybe he finally got rid of that stick up his ass by sticking his dick in someone else’s.” Ming snickered. It was true, though. The admiral hasn’t hoisted anyone to the front yet to berate them for some minor mistake during their forms.

“No, seriously, who in Koh’s lair is that guy next to him? Didn’t the admiral say no to personal guards following him ‘cause he _‘doesn’t want anyone breathing down his neck all the damn time?’_ ” Naku asked, making air quotations with his fingers.

“I don’t know which one of the personal guards he could be. I don’t think I’ve seen him before. Not that you can even tell any of them apart ‘cause of the damn skull helmets.” Ming grumbled. “He’s a lot shorter than most of the crew though, ain’t he? Kinda skinny too.”

Naku hummed thoughtfully, a pensive frown appearing on his face. “You don’t _really_ reckon Admiral Zhao is keeping him around for you know… bedroom purposes, do you?”

“ _’Bedroom purposes’_ ,” Ming scoffed, “fuck’s sake Naku, just say it how it is. But hell if I know. Although from what I’ve heard –“ Ming cast a sly look at Naku, “apparently the admiral’s more fond of the company of men. Maybe he finally found someone he’s willing to put with for longer than a port visit.”

“More like someone who’s willing to put up with _him_ ,” Naku retorted, “he made me scrub the same part of the deck seven times over ‘cause he overheard me complainin’ that the deck doesn’t need to be cleaned every other damn day.”

“Your fault for letting him hear you,” Ming sniggered, “damn man’s a menace. One time I –“

“Hey, you two better shut it.” Officer Riku, who was none too subtly eavesdropping next to the pair, hushed hurriedly. “We’re moving up front next. We can scope Admiral Zhao and Newbie better for fodder for this week’s Gossip Night.”

The trio grinned gleefully at the thought. Gossip Night had been rather dry these past few weeks, but judging from what was transpiring this morning, it was about to become very, very interesting.

* * *

As they waited for the lines to reform, Zhao tilted his head and side-eyed Zuko.

“Perhaps you’d like to join in for the next set? They should hopefully be within your level.” The familiar smarmy grin that spread across Zhao’s face was practically begging to be wiped off, and Zuko was tempted to volunteer.

“I hope you can keep up.” Zuko snapped, taking his stance as the captains signalled to start.

“You don’t need to worry about me.” Zhao assured him smugly, following suit. Then to his captains, he called out, “I will be leading the next set.”

As Zhao began the familiar, practiced motions, he found that the prince was indeed doing his best to keep up. But more than that, his movements were surprisingly perfectly in sync with his own. Long-term practice with the same group of people obviously produced near perfect synchrony, but rarely had he found that any new addition was able to match the leader’s movements as well as the prince was currently doing.

They twisted on their right heels as one and produced a sharp burst of flame that arced high above their heads. One final downward thrust of their arms towards the deck finished off the kata with a searing heat that nearly scorched the metal black. He had no doubt that the princeling possessed the same raw power as the rest of his imperial lineage, but there was something holding him back from being as competent a bender as the rest of his family. Perhaps not enough anger was fuelling his flames? Somehow, Zhao didn’t think that fit. He’d witnessed enough of the little pest’s rages and was well-acquainted with being at the end of his moods himself to figure out the prince had plenty of anger.

 _‘Ah well,’_ Zhao thought, _‘maybe it’s just a simple matter of lacking the same raw talent.’_

“You did surprisingly well for your first run,” Zhao commented out loud to the expectant prince. It amused him how he blatantly insisted he didn’t need Zhao’s approval, yet still waited for his feedback on his performance with obviously feigned disinterest. Still, he may as well boost the prince’s ego a little bit to help smoothen their strained relationship.

“It’s an honour to receive such glowing praise from you, _sir._ ” Zuko replied, sarcasm so thick in his voice that no-one could deny Zhao’s right to punish him for backtalk if he so obliged.

“No need for such hostility,” Zhao laughed, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “I give credit when credit’s due.” He couldn’t see Zuko’s face since the helmet was obscuring it, but he would bet a hefty amount of gold that he was currently being levelled a sceptical look.

“Sure.” Zuko said flatly.

“So eloquent.”

“Is your favourite sound in the whole world your own voice?”

“Second only to your frustrated screams.” Zhao replied offhandedly.

A beat of silence seemed to ring out over the entire deck before they both simultaneously registered what Zhao had just said. They froze, stock still, and for once, the admiral didn’t have a remark to recant what just came out of his mouth. Zhao cleared his throat gingerly after another awkward moment’s pause.

“I… did not intend to imply anything.” Zhao stiffly said. Louder, he addressed his men: “At ease! We stop here. Everyone get started on the day’s duties. Dismissed!”

By the time all the soldiers had filed away, Zuko had still not been able to quell the heat that had risen to his cheeks.

* * *

Naku, Ming and Riku stood at the front of the line, for once feeling lucky about being posted directly in front of Admiral Zhao’s line of sight. They watched the admiral and his supposed personal guard speak quietly to each other, although from the slight hunch of the guard’s shoulders, he was feeling slightly tense.

 _‘Understandable,’_ though Naku sympathetically, _‘no-one ever wants to have a one-to-one conversation with Admiral Sideburns.’_

The Guard suddenly stood rigid and it was clear even under the helmet and the layers of armour that he was feeling agitated.

“Fall into first form!” Their captain shouted. Naku automatically slipped into the stance, planting his feet wide and bending his arms at the elbow. To his surprise, the Guard also abruptly took up the form. Even more shocking was when the admiral followed suit.

“I will be leading the next set.” Admiral Zhao commanded. 

Interesting. The admiral rarely took it upon himself to join in the drills. He typically preferred to watch them with a sweeping pygmy-vulture’s stare, always on the lookout for a reason to glower a hapless soldier into submission. More often than not, there was always a barb ready at the tip of his tongue to criticize some poor chap’s form or fire. Not that Zhao deigning to join them was a bad thing. He’d usually be more focused on his own forms than he was scanning the ranks for any imperfections for him to berate and snap at.

None of that mattered, though, when to Naku and everyone else’s amazement, the Guard easily kept up with their superior officer effortlessly. More than that, their synchrony was akin to a pair that had been practicing side-by-side for years. There was nothing out of place between them, from the angle of their limbs to the height their flame bursts reached.

He had doubts about Ming’s theories, but watching them here and now, moving in a rhythm with intimate cooperation, Naku was becoming increasingly more inclined to believe there was something more between these two. He continued to covertly watch them as Zhao complimented ( _complimented!_ ) the Guard, floored by such an uncharacteristic display from Zhao. It felt like a fever dream, watching their usually snarly, short-fused admiral suddenly acting light-hearted to a subordinate.

“So eloquent.” Admiral Zhao jibed, the ghost of a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Naku looked on in wonderment. He could count on one hand how many times Zhao had smiled at a lower-ranked soldier. It was honestly rather disconcerting because of how out of place it looked. It always seemed like Zhao was allergic to making facial expressions that weren’t included in the holy trinity of scowling, snarling and smirking.

The awe didn’t last long when he heard what the other soldier said next.

“Is your favourite sound in the whole world your own voice?” The Guard retorted. Naku nearly choked, and his blood ran cold on behalf of the other soldier. _‘Oh, he’s done it now,’_ Naku silently lamented. _‘The poor fool’s gonna get roasted alive.’_

The admiral may have been in a strangely good mood this morning, but there was no chance he’d even think about entertaining a remark like that. Naku remembered the last time a soldier was stupid enough to backsass him. Zhao’s face had gone eerily blank, before he cracked a leering grin and purred that he was so glad to see a soldier with a backbone. Everyone had foolishly believed the man was safe. It was stupid, really, to have bought into Zhao’s act of sheathing his claws. Still, the days had gone by without any repercussions, until they made port. Zhao had dragged the idiot who had slighted him into the closest tavern and forced him to act as a bard, snarling that _if you can afford the words to talk back to your superior officer, then you have enough words to provide tonight’s entertainment._ The soldier was made to sing, regale tales, recite poetry, and the works until his voice cracked, voice rasped raw, and his lips so dry that they were peeling at the edges. Only then had Zhao dragged the soldier all the way back to the ship and deny him water until he’d dropped to his knees and grovelled for half a night. Nobody had made the same mistake since.

Until now. Naku closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to witness whatever punishment the admiral decided to inflict. He had a soft heart for a soldier, so sue him. Maybe he’d call for a whipping, or burn his tongue so he couldn’t speak without pain, at best perhaps he would force him to go on latrine duty for a month. He waited with bated breath, dreading for his poor comrade.

“Second only to your frustrated screams.”

Wait, what?

He was sure everybody else within earshot had the same reaction. Naku’s eyes snapped open. The admiral didn’t look particularly affected, but he could pinpoint the exact moment he realized what he had just said. Zhao froze, his eyes widening, and a wince slowly made its way onto his face.

But to Naku, this slip-up was one of the most glorious moments in his short life on this ship. Watching silver-tongued Admiral Zhao lose his composure was a glory very few had ever managed to witness. Even better, there was now the known existence of one person on board with the ability to speak their mind to the admiral’s face without theirs getting scorched off. He idly wondered if there were any possibility of using this to their advantage.

They were dismissed almost immediately after that little stint, but Naku was almost bursting at the seams with giddiness. Gossip Night could not come any faster.

* * *

The afternoon saw them checking and retying the rigging on the _Barracuda_. Zuko re-did one of the knots that were coming a little loose; a nice double half-hitch should secure the rope around the support well. He’d begrudgingly learned how to tie knots from Lieutenant Jee by shadowing him for days, but it had become a skill he was extremely thankful for. He also took a little pride in knowing that this was probably one area he’d outdo Azula in. But the content stirring in his chest didn’t last long at the appearance of a familiar, snarky voice.

“Did your merry little crew teach you anything more advanced than that?” Zhao asked derisively, critically looking over Zuko’s knot just as he’d expertly finished tying off his own.

Zuko frowned, carefully looking over it for any mistakes. When he didn’t see anything out of place, he asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, nothing.” He heard Zhao walk over and loom over his shoulder. “But it’d do you well if you knew more complicated knots.”

The older man nudged Zuko out of the way and undid his frankly excellently tied double half-hitch. He watched as Zhao made several turns of the rope, tucked the loose end under the innermost wrapping and pulled the ends taut. Zuko noticed that the soldier next to him was also half-paying attention to what Zhao was doing. Assuming they were also interested in the impromptu lesson, he shifted slightly out of the way so he could see.

“This is a constrictor knot,” Zhao explained, “it’s more secure than a half-hitch. Even a double one.”

“But why do you need this one if the half-hitch works just fine?”

“It’s much more difficult to untie a constrictor knot,” Zhao smirked, “useful if you need to tie someone up and _keep_ them tied.”

The soldier next to Zuko coughed awkwardly. Zhao immediately lost his smirk and glowered.

“If you have time to be thinking of innuendoes, then you have time to finish that damn half-assed knot you’ve been holding for the past ten minutes and get back to your station!” He hollered. The soldier hurriedly bowed and tied the rigging in record time before sprinting off far away from the incensed admiral.

“… What was that about?” Zuko asked eventually, genuinely bewildered.

“Nothing, Highness.” Zhao snapped.

“ _’No need for such hostility’_ ,” Zuko parroted. “… Can you show me that knot again?”

Safely tucked away in a corner of the ship, Ming breathed a sigh of relief and tried to calm his jackrabbiting heart. He’d honestly meant to be more adroit in his eavesdropping, but then the Guard had noticed him furtively watching and had moved so he could see Zhao’s knotwork – which was awfully considerate of him if not for the fact he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Zhao’s superior knot tying skills – but that was probably the first thing that tipped Zhao off. Then as the cherry on top, he had loudly declared to Zhao just what he thought of the admiral’s apparent knowledge of keeping someone _restrained_. How the hell else was he supposed to interpret that?

At least Admiral Zhao had only yelled at him. Ming got off lucky and he knew it. Although really, Ming shuddered, the admiral needed some serious work on his flirting skills. It was almost more terrifying to see him making innuendoes than it was to see him in one of his bad moods. It had felt so out of place, like a tiger shark amongst turtleducklings, because although he was being his usual condescending self, it was with a touch more… suggestiveness? Was suggestive condescension a thing?

Ming shook his head. No need to ponder this further, otherwise he’d give himself a migraine. This delicate topic required more than one mind – which was exactly why Gossip Night existed. He did feel sorry for the Guard though, for being on the receiving end of it all.

While Ming was contemplating the events that had occurred just moments before his escape, Zhao and Zuko were making their final rounds on the upper deck. Zuko had taken the opportunity to practice the new, more complicated knots Zhao had shown him, not one to look a gift ostrich-horse in the mouth.

“Pull it a little bit tighter there… that’s right.” Zhao instructed, pointing out a section where the rope had loosened. Zuko grunted in acknowledgement and pulled the loose end taut. He checked over the rest of it critically and deemed it fine, but still looked at Zhao questioningly. The other man offered a curt nod of approval back.

Behind his helmet, Zuko allowed himself a small smile. Even though it came from Zhao, the feeling of someone acknowledging his work stirred warmth in his chest. 

He stretched out his arms and leaned against the railing, peering at the lapping waves below. The sun was setting, dappling the swells of the ocean orange. It was calming, even considering the company. Said company also came over to join him at the railing.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Zhao breathed, gaze fixed on the sinking eye of Agni as his arms came to rest upon the rails.

“It is pretty nice,” Zuko admitted, turning to look at him. “A good, calm day.”

Zhao hummed low in his throat. “We’ve got a strong shade of orange in the sky tonight,” he murmured, “Agni must be in a good mood if He is still this energetic before His slumber.”

Zuko studied Zhao’s face closely, taking advantage of the helmet shielding his staring from view. _‘Kinda matches his eyes,’_ Zuko thought absentmindedly. It was true; the exact amber hue in the sky was a mirror image of Zhao’s own eye colour. The lengthening shadows softened the hard lines of his face, rendering the corners into something almost gentle. For all his conniving, manipulative nature, Zhao didn’t look all that bad physically. 

Zuko was suddenly aware of the fact he was most likely the youngest admiral in the Royal Navy, and it was evident. He still had the vestiges of youth clinging to him; the muscles in his face still retaining their ability to make his expression lax and open, not yet succumbing to the chronic tenseness he’d seen in the admirals that visited the palace on business. Although one thing Zhao had in common with them was the way he carried himself. Steadfast and arrogant, his frame doing its best to fill out all the space available, broadcasting his presence to all around. He was already a broad man, but coupled with his height, cut an even more imposing figure.

The Admiral really was quite handsome if you looked past his cunning and ruthlessness. But standing here, with a pondering, almost soft look on his face as he stared out at the setting sun, it was easy to forget that this was the same man who had mercilessly taunted Zuko over his entire banishment with honeyed words and silky tones.

 _‘Stop it,’_ Zuko hissed to himself in dawning horror. _‘Idiot. What in Agni are you thinking?’_

“I believe we should get going. Your uncle will be joining us for dinner soon.” Zhao interrupted the silence, straightening up again and schooling his face into its usual stern expression, as if their moment of rare peace never happened. 

“Yeah, sure.” Zuko replied quietly, following after Zhao.

Dinner that night was a hushed and somewhat tense affair. Iroh peered over the rim of his teacup at Zhao, who was sitting across from him and Zuko, and currently in the midst of methodically picking apart his meal. Zuko was eating silently, offering the occasional one-word response to Iroh’s attempts at striking up conversation. It was marginally better than Zhao’s noncommittal hums and grunts.

“Prince Zuko, you should have another piece of the steamed fish.” Iroh piped up again, grabbing another piece of the aforementioned fish with the communal chopsticks and placing it in Zuko’s bowl. “A growing boy like you needs plenty of protein.”

“I’m fine, Uncle.” Zuko sighed exasperatedly but started nibbling on the fish anyway. Iroh nodded in satisfaction and turned his gaze on Zhao, who was obviously biting back a snicker.

“Admiral Zhao,” Iroh admonished in a faux scandalized voice. “You ought to eat more too. A strapping young man like you should have a much fuller bowl than what you’ve got there.”

Zuko clearly had no qualms keeping his glee to himself, as he made no attempt to stifle a loud burst of laughter. Iroh sustained his pleasant smile even as Zhao shot him an incredulous look.

“I assure you, General Iroh, that there is no need for you to worry about my food intake.” Zhao said, still taken aback. “I can monitor my own diet quite well.”

“Forgive me, Admiral.” Iroh replied cheerfully, not looking the least bit sorry. “Old men like me tend to have a propensity to worry about young people eating enough. You should include incorporate more greens in your diet; it does wonders for your overall health, especially evident when you get older.”

He swiftly picked up a vegetable roll and placed it on Zhao’s plate. The admiral’s eye twitched but he still gritted out a strained smile.

“Thank you for your concern, General.” Zhao managed. Iroh smiled back benevolently and gave a pointed look to the roll. Zhao sighed but picked it up dutifully and bit into it with a vengeance, as if the roll had insulted his entire ancestry. He chewed it more thoroughly than necessary and ignored the beam Iroh sent his way. 

Appeased, the General busied himself next with checking on the tea, picking up the stout teapot next to him and lifting the lid gently. The fragrant smell of oolong drifted gently throughout the room as the escaping steam curled upwards. Another perfectly brewed pot of tea. Iroh smiled proudly and refilled their cups. Calming tea had the remarkable ability to soothe even the most tempestuous of minds. Two of which, he thought privately, were currently dining at the same table as him.

“So, Zuko, what did you and Zhao do today?” Iroh asked. Zhao raised his cup and sipped his tea carefully.

“Oh, Zhao actually taught me some of the best knots to use when tying someone up. You know, so they can’t escape.”

Iroh blinked. Zhao choked on his tea. Zuko glanced back and forth between the two in confusion, a niggling suspicion creeping up his spine telling him that he was missing something.

Iroh cleared his throat delicately and helpfully poured more tea into Zhao’s cup. Zuko cast a slightly concerned glance at the still sputtering and coughing man. 

“Well Nephew, I’m glad you and the Admiral are getting along a lot better.”

Zhao desperately wanted to thunk his head on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Zhao thought Iroh was going to offer him military advice, he didn't think it would include telling him to eat his vegetables.


	3. Stories Before Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story-time with Zhao!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've figured out a fairly consistent posting schedule of every 5-7 days, but I'm doing my best to stay at least 2 chapters ahead of what I've posted.
> 
> I cherish each and every comment. Thank you for your support <3

Iroh had stayed in the cabin for a while after dinner, making idle conversation and somehow managing to rope both Zhao and Zuko into a game of Pai Sho. To which he also thoroughly trounced them both at.

Zuko couldn’t deny though, that Iroh’s calming presence had chased away the oppressing tension in the room. Now that he had taken his leave, it came back twice as suffocating as it was before. They were both in bed now, a sense of déjà vu overwhelming them as they found themselves in the exact situation as the night before. Zuko sighed, scrubbing one hand over his eyes. It was impossible to fall asleep like this, not when every slight shift he made suddenly sounded deafeningly loud in the strained silence enveloping the room.

“Do you have any play scrolls?” Zuko asked, cautiously hopeful. At this point, he didn’t care what Zhao had to say about that. Anything to distract him from the awkwardness.

“No.”

Zuko sighed, exaggeratingly long and loud. On the other side of the room, Zhao rubbed his temples in irritation.

“Maybe if you spent as much time studying battle tactics as you did reading play scrolls, you wouldn’t be such a disappointment to your father.”

“You really can’t be civilized to me, can you?” Zuko grumped.

Zhao barked out a laugh. “You lost any right to my respect long ago. Be pragmatic boy, and see that I am giving you sound advice. Cease your flighty little entertainments and focus on what your father would actually like you to be. Maybe then he’d welcome you home as a son, rather than the thorn in his side that you are.”

Zuko’s temper flared. “I don’t need you telling me what I should and shouldn’t be. It was just a question! Whatever, I didn’t expect someone like you to appreciate plays anyway.”

“Did you just want a bedtime story? Is that what this is all about?” Zhao sneered, sitting up in his bed. “I’ll tell you one then. Plays are often the product of make-believe fantasies and idealism; _legends_ are based on semblances of truth.”

Zuko frowned at that. He had to admit though, he was curious what sort of stories the other man knew. But he was also wary of the fact that Zhao seemed to be willing to indulge in his request without demanding anything upfront.

“Somehow I can’t see you telling stories that don’t boost your ego for free.”

“I don’t. I expect repayment.”

He’d been expecting this. Zhao simply didn’t do things without attaching a price tag. He knew all these favours would catch up eventually; letting Uncle join them for meals, giving Zuko the chance to maintain his firebending practice, instructing him in tying knots – it was foolish to think Zhao would do any of that out of the goodness of his black heart.

“What do you want?” Zuko asked, resigned. To his surprise, Zhao had a ready demand at once; no hemming and hawing and preening under the guise of consideration as he kept Zuko under bated, dreadful anticipation.

“I want to see your swordsmanship skills.” Zhao declared immediately, “Tomorrow. The non-benders will be holding their training sessions in the late morning.”

Zuko blinked, not entirely sure why the Admiral chose this particular favour in repayment. Was he trying to oust his identity as the Blue Spirit to the entire crew? To Uncle?

“You swore that you’d –“

“I’m well aware of my own end of the bargain,” Zhao interrupted, “I’m not trying to stack evidence against you. Not that I’d need to, anyway. Humour me, I could very well demand something else.”

Showcasing his abilities in exchange for a story. It wasn’t the most equal exchange, but he didn’t see the harm in it. It was also probably better than anything else Zhao could think of as repayment anyway. Plus, it might give him enough leeway to substantially reduce more of his debt to Zhao outside of the story. 

“Fine, fine, okay. I’ll need swords though. I lost mine when _someone_ blew up my ship.” Zuko huffed.

“They’ll be provided.” Zhao agreed easily enough, _still_ unflinching in the face of Zuko’s accusations. He shifted his body so he was lounging comfortably against the metal wall behind his back. “Alright, settle down then. Do you need me to come over there and tuck you in?” He crooned mockingly.

“Shut up and get on with it.” Zuko growled.

“So touchy.” Zhao smirked. “This is a local legend from the island of Tsugashi -”

“The small island far west of Caldera?” Zuko interrupted, frowning. “I thought there’s only one village that lives there.”

“That’s the one,” Zhao replied, “they’re a reclusive people, but they have enough local legends for an entire nation. I happened to spend a few days there during my time as a fresh recruit when we were rooting out hiding insurgents. Their most popular ancient tale was of their local hero; a man called Taku who defied the will of the spirits and triumphed.”

Zuko couldn’t deny that he was intrigued. Most of the stories and plays he could get his hands on were at least moderately known by the general populace. He didn’t often get a chance to pick up elusive folk tales from obscure, remote islands. Not unless he had an excuse to go traipsing around the lesser known parts of the Fire Nation like Zhao clearly had. He was tugged out of his thoughts by Zhao beginning the story in a smooth, well-versed tone.

“Taku wasn’t a man of any importance in the village. He was born to parents of average standing and groomed to a life of growing and harvesting the village’s crops. However, he thought otherwise – believing that he was destined for something beyond maintaining the tomato-carrots and the towering fields of corn in their humble village. But whenever he broached the subject with his friends, parents, extended family – they laughed him out of the house.”

Zhao paused, levelling an unreadable look on Zuko.

“ _’What would you know of destiny?’_ His parents would scold, _‘When all you know is how to reap and plough? Not even the Chief feels the discontent you do; be grateful with what you have.’_ He wasn’t satisfied with that of course, and the disapproval he faced from everyone he talked to did nothing to quell his desires for something more.”

Something almost wistful seemed to flicker in Zhao’s eyes.

“Taku had a burning desire to prove them all wrong; to prove that he wasn’t just a simple farmer in their village. He’d felt the beckoning of the ocean since he was born – a siren’s call to leave the village for adventure and glory. But he had no direction, no goal, and to go out without meaning was to drive one into the arms of suicide.”

Zuko curled up uneasily in his blanket, having shoved his pillow between his back and the wall so he could recline against it comfortably.

“Several years passed until Taku grew into a fine young man of sixteen summers. It was then that a boat from a neighbouring island washed up ashore, with no survivors except for an elderly man clinging onto the last vestiges of life. They did all they could for the man, but to no avail. On his last few breaths of life, the old man told his tale: Earth Kingdom traders had stopped on a distant island en route to their village and stolen a trickster spirit’s treasure – a little solid gold idol inlaid with precious gems made in the spirit’s liking. The traders fled, but the spirit was hard on their tail. In their desperation, they claimed that the village Chief had paid them to steal the golden idol and had already sold it. In reality, the traders had lost it at sea during a turbulent storm that buffeted them to and fro like gnat-flies on the wind. The spirit, relentless in their fury, would not hear a single word. They tore apart each and every trader, and when even that was not enough to sate their thirst for vengeance, turned their rage onto the village. They raised hurricanes, flooded houses, and struck people down where they stood with great bouts of lightning.”

Zhao’s voice was hushed, almost reverent when he described the destruction wrought. Despite himself, Zuko found himself enthralled by the story, submersed in the picture Zhao was spinning.

“The old man spoke his tale till his last dying breath; moaning in misery how the spirit refused to relent its assault until their due has been repaid and their treasure returned. Taku saw his opportunity and offered to go appease the spirit. Again, he was laughed off and humiliated. What could a mere boy like him do against an enraged spirit? It was an impossible task, one in which only a fool would undertake.”

There was that unreadable look aimed at Zuko again. Zuko blinked, confused, about to ask what was wrong, when Zhao picked up again as if nothing ever happened.

“But Taku did not succumb to their taunts and gibes. He packed at once and set off with goads and ridiculing provocations launched at his back. When he reached the island, the spirit was still in the throes of their anger had not let up on their vengeance at all.”

Zhao paused for dramatic effect before hissing in a soft, dark, dangerous voice Zuko had never heard before from him.

“ _’You are a fool to have come here; I’ve no time to entertain your ideas of heroics, boy.’_ The spirit threatened menacingly, _‘I will not listen to neither pleas nor bargains.’_ Taku straightened his back and gazed unflinchingly into the spirit’s great, glowing eyes. _‘What would it take for you to leave in peace?’_ He asked, conducting himself with a confidence that had never been taught to him by the village. _‘If you give me my greatest treasure,’_ the spirit grinned, mouth peeling back to reveal rows upon rows of sloping, silver needle-like teeth, _‘then I will return to my island, and bother this village no more.’_ ”

“There’s gotta be something more to it,” Zuko couldn’t help blurting out. “It’s never that easy.” Zhao chuckled and waved a dismissive hand.

“Taku wasn’t foolish enough to believe in a trickster spirit’s word. An impulsive man would scour the ocean’s floor until the treasure was found; a wise man would ponder where the treasure could be for nought of beginning a fruitless search. Taku embarked on a pilgrimage for several months, seeking out the meaning behind the spirit’s words. The spirit’s demands were to be met, word-for-word, if there was to be even the slightest glimmer of hope for the village.”

Zhao stopped to clear his throat, “The spirit had specified for the _greatest_ treasure, you see. Whilst the golden idol must’ve been dear to the spirit, spirits had little care for material possessions. Furthermore, it didn’t specify that it was to be _returned_ , rather, the spirit implied it was to be _given_. But even knowing this, Taku did not have a clue what the greatest treasure could be. Until one day he serendipitously stumbled upon a travelling jester. The jester brought great joy to all by playing jokes at his own expense such as ‘accidentally’ tripping face first into fruit pies.”

Zhao stopped again for a moment to stretch out his arms, languidly loosening up his posture before he continued. Zuko surreptitiously compared him to a cat settling down for a nap.

“One elder did not find it so amusing. The old woman turned up her nose and scowled, _‘A jester seeks glory in ridicule; a trickster seeks glory in reverence._ ’ As soon as he heard this, Taku knew he had finally found his answer. At once, he sailed back to the island the spirit was plaguing and was again received with cold indifference.”

Zhao’s voice dropped back into the lethal silk from before, amber eyes holding the same predatory glint Zuko could imagine glowing in the eyes of the very spirit Zhao was describing.

“ _’You’ve brought nothing with you,’_ the spirit spat, displeased. _‘What could you possibly use to bargain with if you have returned empty-handed?’_ Taku stood his ground and announced with a hard voice, _‘Your greatest treasure is not an object. You seek one of the highest honours that could be bestowed on a spirit involved in trickery, and I will give it to you. If you cease your anger, this island will be named in your honour, for the prowess and determination you displayed when you chased after those that had wronged you.’_ ”

“And he was right. Trickster spirits were very rarely granted a namesake, for they were not like the Great Spirits, who provide aid to mankind without demanding anything in return. Tricksters twisted their words and actions to beguile and deceive for their own entertainment. For a rare moment, the spirit was taken aback with surprise. Here was a mortal who had managed to see beyond their words; and a simple village peasant no less. They were appeased, and at once the dark grey clouds parted, the torrent of rain ceased, and the howling gales quietened. Thus, the island was renamed Tsugashi; and the people revered Taku, the brave villager boy nobody believed in.” Zhao finished solemnly.

“I hope he went back to his home village at one point to show them up,” Zuko snorted. Zhao huffed another laugh and shrugged.

“The village elders that told me the story didn’t expand on that point, no.” Zhao said, amused. “I trust I delivered that story to your satisfaction, Highness?”

“… It’ll do.” Zuko muttered back in reply, unwilling to admit he might’ve enjoyed Zhao’s storytelling maybe more than the story itself.

“Rest up then,” Zhao said breezily, sliding back into a supine position. “You’ve a long day tomorrow. I expect to be impressed.”

Zuko rolled his eyes but settled down anyway. Sleep came easy that night, and he dreamed of laughing spirits that whispered in familiar, velvety tones.

* * *

“Did you get the swords?” Zuko asked idly as he and Zhao stepped onto the upper deck.

In lieu of a reply, Zhao snapped his fingers at one of the awaiting attendants, who scurried over with a tightly wrapped cloth bundle in their hands. Zuko gingerly unwrapped the cloth and carefully pulled out the dual dao encased within. They were simple; the blades made of the standard quality steel produced en mass for the military, capped by humble wooden hilts free of embellishments or carvings.

Zuko gave a few practice swings, judging their reach and weight. Lighter than his previous pair, but not by so much that it would be difficult for him to adjust. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed having a pair of swords, their shape and weight a familiar comfort in his hands. He may have never been able to keep up with Azula in firebending, but swords were the one thing he had full confidence in. He smiled down at the blades, basking in the brimming confidence they offered him.

“You’ll be sparring with the best swordsman on the ship,” Zuko was jarred out of his reverence by Zhao’s familiar drawl. “Lieutenant Syako is renowned for her prowess in the art of the blade, especially for her age. Standard sparring rules apply. And obviously, no firebending.”

He nodded at both Zuko and the lieutenant.

“When you’re ready.”

The first strike came from Lieutenant Syako a mere second after they had made the traditional pre-sparring bows. It was thanks to years of training that allowed Zuko to hone his reflexes to the point where he parried before he was consciously aware of it. She was fast, that much was obvious. A nearly imperceptible look flashed across her face. She’d tested his speed and strength, and from the steely glint in her eyes – deemed him a worthy opponent.

Zhao watched from the sideline as Syako lunged again, but Zuko diverted her strike and twisted on his heel, quickly moving into Syako’s open side. She parried just in time and both fighters spun away before the other could get the drop on them.

There was no doubt Syako was a formidable master of the blades. She was rooted and steady, her gaze fixed on her opponent at all times, never losing track of him even when Zuko managed to slip behind her or into her periphery.

However, Zuko moved with a feline grace that took Zhao aback with genuine surprise. Prince Zuko, when he wasn’t stomping, walked with the typical grace of nobles; practiced movements drilled into him since he was old enough to walk. But watching him here, now, it was as if a completely different person had replaced him. He was as light on his feet as a certain pesky airbender, darting in any and all directions as if to touch the ground would be his folly. There was a predatory precision in the way he circled his opponent, his lithe figure twisting out of range with the agility of a leopard-deer weaving through the grass.

They waltzed like this back and forth across the deck for a while, swords swinging in silver arcs; leaving blindingly white trails as light caught on deadly metal. They twisted and stepped as if they were performing a well-rehearsed dance, neither relenting in their furious onslaught until finally – one of Zuko’s dao knocked Syako’s sword out of her hand in tandem with his foot sweeping her off her own feet. The prince stood above her; the other sword poised at her neck.

Zhao released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. If he had any semblances of doubt the prince wasn’t the masked swordsman that freed the Avatar at Pohuai Stronghold, it was wiped clean from his mind now. He’d underestimated the princeling. Clearly, he was more versed in subterfuge and infiltration than he’d thought possible from someone who appeared on the surface as an impulsive hot-headed teenager. But now he knew what he was dealing with, and perhaps this could be cultivated to his advantage.

Syako accepted the hand Zuko offered and let herself be pulled upright. They made their cursory post-sparring bows and when they rose, the corner of Syako’s lips twitched upwards.

“Not bad at all.” She offered.

“Thank you for the spar. You were an excellent opponent.” Zuko replied in turn. He hadn’t been pushed to the limits of his skill for what felt like ages and it was a breath of fresh air to be truly put to the test again.

“Not often I get pitted up against a dual wielder,” she grinned, “you folk are a rare kind.”

Zuko cracked a proud smile at that, but Zhao frowned contemplatively. “Would it not be considered an advantage to fight with two swords? I’d imagine that would encourage more people to learn how to dual wield.”

“That’s a common misconception,” Zuko shrugged, the fight having put him in a good enough mood that he was willing to answer freely. “Dual dao are two halves of a single weapon. You can’t think of them as separate, because they’re not. They’re just two different parts of the same whole.”

Zhao still looked bemused, so Zuko continued, “If I lost one of my swords in a fight, I can continue fighting with a single sword, yes. But without one, there is imbalance. And it’s this imbalance that could very well cost me the fight. It’s the same philosophy behind yin and yang, positive and negative… _push and pull_.”

Zhao flinched, and Zuko startled in alarm. He’d never seen that expression before, as if he had broached something deeply personal to the man. He opened his mouth, a word of concern on his perched on his lips, but Zhao quickly recovered, and impassivity slipped back over his face like a mask. 

“… I see.” Zhao murmured. Zuko paused, unsure if he should query his wellbeing. Syako too looked troubled and partly confused, having never seen such an adverse reaction from Zhao that didn’t stem from anger.

They were saved by Iroh, who wandered over them with a wide smile on his face.

“Admiral Zhao, I see you’ve taken up an interest in learning about non-bending combat.” Iroh beamed. “I just managed to catch the last of the fight when I got here. It was a marvellous display, wasn’t it? Superbly fought by the both of you.” He winked at Zuko and Syako.

“Thank you, General Iroh.” Syako smiled back pleasantly. Zhao sighed and straightened up, crossing his arms behind his back.

“I doubt you are only here to exchange pleasantries, General. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your approach to requesting things of me. What is it that you want?”

“Such an astute man you are!” Iroh laughed cheerfully, “I was wondering if I could broach the topic of incorporating music night again…?”

“You’ve been bringing up this topic nearly every time you see me,” Zhao deadpanned, “and my answer is the same. Music night is a frivolity that may have been tolerated on your old ship, but it will not be on mine.”

“Have a heart, good admiral.” Iroh kept smiling on, despite being rebuffed. “Enjoying the magic of music is a fine way to soothe the spirit, second only to tea of course!”

Zhao pinched the bridge of his nose and furrowed his eyebrows (Iroh noted with interest that the admiral seemed unaware he had picked up one of Zuko’s mannerisms, and mentally filed it away to ponder later). He cast an exasperated look at Zuko and honest to goodness _pleaded_ :

“Back me up here. Tell General Iroh that music night is not a necessity.”

Surely out of everyone on the ship, the old man would listen to his dearest nephew? Unbidden memories arose deep within Zhao’s mind of several occasions where he’d stopped by the _Wani_ for a surprise inspection during their music nights, with a grumpy prince shut away in his room to get away from it all. Zhao pointedly pushed those memories back down.

Unbeknownst to him, Zuko’s mouth spread into a gleeful, borderline-manic grin under his mask. For once, his Uncle’s insistence for pointless celebrations was turning the tides in his favour. Who was he to turn down an opportunity to put Zhao through torture?

“Actually,” Zuko protested, “I think music night is an excellent idea.” 

Zhao shot Zuko a hilarious look of betrayal, which he savoured with relish. It warmed his heart more than even the look of sheer joy Iroh sent his way.

“No,” Zhao said sternly. “The invasion of the North is only mere weeks away. Our troops must turn their focus solely on preparing for war. We cannot afford wasting our energy on nonsensical festivities.”

“On the contrary,” Iroh refuted, “festivity is the perfect thing for our circumstances. The soldiers grow weary, Admiral, in both spirit and feeling. If you give them an outing to pour their frustrations, you will find that morale will significantly improve, and your chances of a successful invasion will in turn also greatly increase.”

Zhao stared at him stubbornly, and Iroh could practically see him readying another rebuttal. He quickly interrupted before it could be delivered.

“Do you know how I won the siege of Gai Lang? My eighth military conquest?”

“Of course,” Zhao frowned, “the siege wore on for three months, but in a gamble, you gathered all your resources for one final strike. The enemy was quickly overwhelmed, allowing you to lay claim to the city.”

“Yes,” Iroh chuckled, “but the non-stop fighting dragged my men’s spirits down. They struggled to remember what they were fighting for every day. I needed to rejuvenate their spirits and motivation, and I did so by giving them one night to forget about war and pick up music instead. Joy inspires loyalty, Admiral. They regained their drive and renewed their efforts against the Earth Kingdom, and it was this determination that allowed my soldiers to storm through and emerge triumphant.”

Iroh fixed Zhao with a serious look.

“Engaging the North in battle is no joke, Admiral. You will need more than sound military strategy to breach their walls. You need the spirit and drive of every soldier at your disposal to create a unified attack. A single sparrow-mouse stands no chance against a lizard-eagle, but a horde will live to see another day.”

“I have plans in place,” Zhao insisted, “plans that will take care of our greatest threats.”

Iroh frowned. “My point still stands, Admiral. The army must be motivated to fight for a common cause if you are to have any hope of victory. We have discussed our military strategy thoroughly, Zhao, but even those are vulnerable to failure without unity of the army.” Iroh paused thoughtfully, “Well, unless you have the will of the spirits on your side.”

“No, I –” Zhao began, looking as if he was debating something. But then a shadow flitted over his face as quickly as it was smoothed down. “Nothing. You may have a point, General.”

“Did you have other plans?” Iroh asked hesitantly, “We can discuss it further if you wish.”

“No, there’s nothing notable to discuss.” Zhao replied with finality, his expression carefully guarded. “Very well, General. I will look into incorporating music night.”

At once, Iroh’s face brightened. “Ah, excellent! When is the soonest we can hold it? Perhaps tonight, even?”

“No,” Zhao replied immediately, “there’s a storm coming.” He turned to Syako to deliver an order. “Lieutenant, inform the captains to carry out standard storm procedures. And…” he hesitated for a moment, “… instruct them to meet with me this afternoon to discuss music night.” 

Syako saluted sharply and left.

“How can you tell there’s going to be a storm?” Zuko asked, incredulous as he looked up at the clear sky and brightly shining sun.

“The clouds are moving fast,” Zhao shrugged, pointing them out. “Plus, their shape. If they’re stretched long and thin like that, it’s a sure sign the weather is about to take a turn. There’s dozens of other little signs, but the clouds always give everything away.”

“For a man of the Fire Nation, I must say you are equally a man of the sea.” Iroh hummed. At Zhao’s frown, Iroh hurriedly assured him, “That is a good thing, it is rare for someone of fire to be so attuned to our natural opposite.”

“My family had always been fond of the water,” Zhao let slip, “you just tend to pick up a couple things over time.”

“Really?” Zuko asked, curious despite himself. It was easy to forget sometimes, that Zhao had a life outside of his naval career. It was admittedly hard to connect Zhao with the softer aspects of life such as family and friends, when he’d always seemed like a man with a one-track mind for conquest and glory.

“My father was my first teacher in the ways of the sea,” Zhao elaborated, somewhat reminiscently. “I suppose I have him to thank for cultivating my eventual pathway into the navy.”

“Huh,” Zuko replied, feeling slightly despondent. He couldn’t help bitterly noting that his own father would never take the time to teach him anything like that. 

_‘He’s a busy man,’_ Zuko reminded himself, _‘of course he wouldn’t have time.’_

He decidedly ignored the tiny voice whispering to him that Father always had space in his schedule to oversee _Azula’s_ training and indulge in her whims and –

 _‘Don’t be ungrateful,’_ he chided, _‘Father loves you just as much. He just has a different way of showing it.’_

“No matter,” Zhao cleared his throat, “I suggest you batten down the hatches tonight, General. It’s going to be a big storm.”

* * *

True to Zhao’s word, the storm was upon them in full throttle by night-time. It descended upon them in an instant; within seconds, rolling soot-black clouds blotted out the darkened sky and thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance. The sea had turned turbulent, waves crashing so high against the ship that the spray reached even the upper deck of Zhao’s empire-class flagship.

Not even the sheer size of the ship stopped it from rocking, much to Zuko’s displeasure. He was sliding across the floor on his futon, not so much that he was tumbling around, but enough that it was getting very, _very_ irritating. Zhao’s bed was bolted down, of course, like the rest of the furniture in the room, and the bastard looked entirely too entertained watching him shift back to his place against the wall every two minutes.

“Shut up,” Zuko snarled. Zhao grinned, teeth glinting like a hunting tigerdillo in the dark.

“I didn’t say anything,” Zhao replied in an all-too-amused voice.

Zuko scoffed, “You can’t judge me, I’m sleeping on the floor. Which, if you haven’t noticed from your very humungous, stable bed, is rocking with the spirits-damned storm going on outside.”

Zhao blinked at him lazily, sprawled like a particularly spoiled pet cat on the wide expanse of said bed.

“We can share the bed tonight if that’s what you’re so bothered about,” he offered. “I personally don’t care.”

“What?” Zuko asked faintly, entirely thrown aback by this turn of event. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m in the mood to share tonight,” Zhao shrugged, “take it or leave it.”

“You don’t share. What do you want in return?” Zuko replied, dumbfounded.

“Nothing. I just happen to be feeling generous,” Zhao said blithely, “one of those days, you know?”

Zuko did miss sleeping in a bed, and it wasn’t the first time he’d slept packed tightly next to someone (usually his uncle). There was enough space that he wouldn’t need to be pressed up against Zhao, thank the spirits for that, but it was still _Zhao_. Zhao who had admittedly been a rather gracious host, all things considering. Even though he was fairly sure the favours he’d granted were based on a transactional relationship, Zuko had seen enough glimpses of the man’s, dare he say, kinder side over the past few days that he might be willing to give the benefit of the doubt the man really didn’t have any ulterior motives.

The ship gave another jolt and Zuko barely managed to prevent his head from hitting the wall. In the spur of the moment, he made up his mind. He was exhausted, kind of cranky, and _done_ with getting jolted abruptly awake when he had been _so close_ to falling asleep.

“I- alright.” He sighed, getting up and moving towards Zhao’s bed. The other man shuffled over until he was on the far-left side of the bed, leaving the right side to Zuko. Still, Zuko hesitated before he climbed in.

“Stay on your side,” Zuko warned.

“The same goes for you,” Zhao retorted. “I’m not feeling so generous that I’d let you cuddle up to me.”

Zuko flushed, “Why the hell would I do that?”

The other man smirked in that infuriating way of his when he had something smarmy to say. “I just assumed the ever-benevolent General Iroh does that for you when you’re feeling down, Highness.”

The unbidden blush that flooded Zuko’s cheeks only served to annoy him further.

“Shut up, he hasn’t done that since I was a kid –”

He cut himself off and slowly turned to look at Zhao with horrified trepidation. The older man stared back at him blankly, before the most insufferable expression steadily crept across his face, unrestrained glee sparking in his amber eyes.

“Shut up.” Zuko half-pleaded, half-begged.

“Now, now, Highness.” Zhao cooed, “No need to be embarrassed. Here, if you get frightened during the night, I can fetch your uncle for you.”

“Shut up!” Zuko wailed, “Spirits, just shut up! Look, you’ve got an extra pillow in the closet, right? I’ll put it between us so we don’t have the cuddle problem, okay? Just shut up already.”

Zhao laughed again and turned so he was lying on his side, facing the wall. He raised one arm and waved him off.

“Do what you want, I don’t care.” He replied, still chuckling quietly to himself. Zuko groaned in embarrassment and grabbed the spare pillow, shoving it side-on in the middle of the bed before he finally deemed it safe enough to lie down. Zuko shuffled against the sheets, relishing the sensation of an actual bed again. But when he lay still, the comfort ceased altogether.

The crashing of the waves and the rumbling booms of thunder weren’t enough to drown out the awkward silence they found themselves basking in. Lightning streaked across the pitch-black sky, brightening the room for an instant. All the exhaustion that had accumulated in Zuko’s body seemed to dissipate as soon as his back had hit the soft sheets, replaced by a tension spring-loaded in his limbs; ready to move at the slightest notice.

Next to him, Zhao suddenly heaved out a gusty sigh. Zuko coughed, “So… what are we doing tomorrow?”

“The commencement of the first music night, I suppose.”

“Okay.” He said lamely.

Another pause.

“Uncle might try get you to play the tsungi horn, you know. Usually he tries to make me play, but since I need to keep my helmet on, he’ll probably go for you instead.”

Zuko heard a groan and the muffled thump of Zhao’s head as it hit his pillow.

“Just shut up and get some damn sleep.”

“You first,” Zuko shot back petulantly. He’d only been trying to warn the older man. A little kindness to repay him for offering his bed.

“Tell me about Dragons in Love again.” Zhao suddenly demanded, turning to face him.

“It’s _Love Amongst the Dragons_!”

“Whatever. Tell me about it so I can get to sleep.”

Zuko immediately twisted onto his side to stare at Zhao, beyond insulted yet struggling to grasp for words. The other man simply raised an eyebrow at him and seemed to take Zuko’s silence as a cue to spout even more horrendous things.

“Look, just pick up from where the Dragon Emperor was about to kill the travelling merchant.”

“Kill the - ?! He was _not_ going to kill him; he was going to offer him pity!”

“Oh, like I did for you?” A shark-tooth smile stretched across Zhao’s lips, his gaze sharpening like he had just smelled spilled blood.

“You are nothing like the Dragon Emperor. To even compare yourself to him is an insult to the character. First of all, the Dragon Emperor humbles himself when he knows he caused a slight against someone. You, on the other hand, never admit to your mistakes and you _still_ haven’t apologized for trying to kill me –”

Zhao relaxed, closing his eyes. “Let bygones be bygones,” he droned with no trace of guilt to be detected in his voice. 

“- and don’t think I’ve never seen you throw your own men into the prison rig for a day ‘cause you got angry with them –”

He did do that, didn’t he? Zhao thought idly. Only when his temper was truly tested. He wasn’t completely unreasonable when it came to his own soldiers, but when any of them deemed it appropriate to deliberately act out, he took great, vindictive pleasure in hauling them over his shoulder and physically throwing them into a cell for a couple hours. Rather cathartic, really.

“- there’s morality behind the Dragon Emperor’s actions; despite his fall from grace, he learns to pick himself up and climb back to the top without manipulations nor deceit –”

And evidently, it was also cathartic for the prince to point out all of Zhao’s apparent shortcomings and lack of consideration for others. Zhao yawned, finding it even easier to yield to sleep than the first time Zuko had gone on one of his rants.

“- and goddamn it Zhao, you knew I wanted the last kabocha squash and you took it! _And_ you looked me in the eye when you were eating it! Don’t lie, I know you don’t even like squash!”

That jolted him out of his drowsiness for a moment, if only to stifle a laugh. No, he didn’t like squash. But he was willing to eat an entire one if he could relive the moment all over again. The expression on Zuko’s face put him in a good mood for an entire day.

“- you’re lucky Uncle was always there to stop me from calling you an asshole, because that’s what you are, and I swear you’d embrace that as an official title –”

Zuko cut himself off, and cautiously peered at Zhao. The admiral’s face was lax, his broad chest rising and falling slowly and evenly. Zuko huffed, and an exasperated smile tugged at his lips. He’d caught on earlier this time.

In his sleep, Zhao looked almost… harmless. Not that one should fool themselves into thinking he was completely vulnerable like this, though. Zuko had no doubt the man could coil up and strike out in an instant like a rat-viper if he woke up to danger.

Still, the lines of his face were relaxed and even his barbed tongue was finally at rest. Although lately, his snarky remarks were starting to sound more like light-hearted teasing than aimed to truly sting. Zuko’s eyes widened with sudden realization as he stared at the other man in a horrified new light. He was feeling… fond?

 _‘Shit,’_ Zuko thought, _‘how did that happen?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stories are an integral part of both Zhao and Zuko, it's an incredibly important point of focus for the evolution of their relationship. Next chapter we will be checking in on the crew's gossip night ;)


	4. Interlude with the Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude with the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo a few notes:
> 
> \- You may have noticed I got rid of the chapter count. I have several reasons for this.  
> \- 1. Chapter 5 snowballed into an absolute monster of more than 12k words so I decided to split it into two chapters.  
> \- 2. After looking at my outlines I realized I needed to slow things down a bit.  
> \- 3. Plot bunnies started hopping around like crazy and I couldn’t bear leaving them out. (That being said, if you have prompts, I’d love to hear them)  
> \- 4. Honestly I can’t guarantee I won’t let other chapters snowball so better safe than sorry lol  
> \- Best course of action I reckoned was to ban the chap count and see where my writing goes. I’ll update the count once I’m confident I know how many chapters there’ll be.  
> \- Also watch the tags. They are gonna get updated as we progress through the fic.  
> \- Anyway we’ve got a relatively short chapter this week, but I’m pretty happy to release chap 5 earlier than usual. You can expect a soonish update ;)

While Zhao and Zuko were debating the merits of sharing a bed, the soldiers of the __Barracuda__ were convening in the silent bowels of the ship.

“Settle down, settle down!” Ming yelled over the clamouring in the mess hall, standing on one of the wooden tables. The storm outside raged on, but the excitement in the air tonight thrummed like the buzz of electricity. Ming couldn’t blame them, having been anticipating this week’s Gossip Night more eagerly than usual himself. 

Gossip Night was a long-standing tradition established by a small group of officers that have since been transferred to their own ships. It started when Zhao had attained the rank of Captain, and the soldiers on board met once a week in the safe covers of the night to take the mickey out of the man himself (and swap survival tips on how to deal with Zhao, but that was beside the point). Eventually it became a weekly gathering to talk about anything remotely juicy that happened on the ship, although its original purpose was never forgotten. It had since been passed down from recruit to recruit on every ship Zhao had served under, and Ming was quite proud to say that it had garnered a respectable number of members on the __Barracuda__.

The little society was kept tightly under wraps, and it was with the utmost caution that not a word was breathed anywhere near Zhao himself or anyone looking to suck up to him. 

Once the chattering had quietened, he cleared his throat and puffed out his chest authoritatively (while ignoring the snickers coming from Riku and Naku at his side).

“Alright, thank you all for coming tonight despite the shitstorm out there,” he pointed at the rain battering against one of the windows. “We’re going to begin today with a topic I believe most of you are already quite well-acquainted with.”

The gleeful, secretive glances exchanged between everyone around the room did not go unnoticed. There were a few confused but eager looks from some of the crewmembers that had lower chances of encountering Zhao, such as the apprentice stewards. Ming preened at the attention and paused dramatically.

“Today, we are going to be talking about… Zhao’s love life!”

He was met with a (hushed) uproar and round of cheering. Ming laughed himself, hardly daring to believe that the day had finally come where they had actual substance surrounding the admiral’s more salacious side of life.

“That’s right everyone, we’ve got an incredibly hot topic for this week but don’t forget, we have rules and conduct! So remember, minimise the interruptions, stand if you’ve got something important to say, and keep this all hush-hush from Zhao!”

Nods of agreement were seen all around the room. Ming grinned, satisfied.

“Excellent! Righto, I’ll start first. Riku, Naku and I have reason to believe that Zhao has finally found a special someone! It was a few days ago during morning firebending practice that we overheard some __very__ interesting conversation between Zhao and his new personal guard.”

“Speaking of which, did anyone catch the guard’s name? And where he came from? Because I don’t think I remember seeing someone like that around the ship. Not until he appeared out of nowhere shadowing Zhao of all people, that is.” Naku interjected, scratching his head.

“Never seen him before,” another soldier sitting at one of the front tables piped up, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with his helmet off, either. He’s short though, I can tell you that.”

“And he sounded pretty young,” Riku tacked on. “Must be a new recruit.”

“Maybe it was love at first sight,” Captain Hoshi sighed dreamily from the front. “Think about it: showed up out of nowhere, is immediately given the position of personal guard, and he’s always found with Zhao.” She stopped, furrowing her eyebrows in thought. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him leave Zhao’s side.”

“Well, I mean, does it surprise you that Zhao’s possessive?” Ming asked. “He doesn’t seem like the type to share. Or, you know, let things he likes to be out of his sight.”

Hoshi wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You can’t refer to people as __things.__ That’s just unsavoury.”

“And I agree,” Naku nodded, “but back to the subject, does anyone know his name at least?”

There was a chorus of noes and shaking heads around the room.

“Alright. Well we can call him Newbie for now I guess.” Naku said, glancing around. “Any objections?”

“Better than what I had in mind,” Ming shrugged, “I was thinking more along the lines of –”

“No-one needs to know,” Riku interrupted, hastily slapping his hand across Ming’s mouth. “So anyway, it was at firebending practice when Zhao sauntered up all cocky and arrogant as usual, like seriously, the guy has an ego the size of this damn battleship and then some –”

“More storytelling, less insulting.” Hoshi cut in.

“Right, right, sorry. So that was the first time we had ever seen Newbie. They were watching the first set of drills and kinda talking with each other quietly, so I don’t think anyone caught what they were saying.”

“Sweet nothings?” Hoshi asked hopefully.

“Imagine that,” Naku snickered. “No, I don’t think so. Whatever they were talking about had Newbie all tense and stiff. Zhao was probably being his usual charming self. You know, pissing people off and all that.”

“ _ _Anyway__ ,” Riku butted in again, “we don’t know what they were talking about, but Zhao and Newbie joined us for the rest of the drills. It was amazing, Newbie kept up with Zhao without breaking a sweat! You know, the kind of coordination you’d expect from a dance troupe, or brothers-in-arms or –”

“People in a very intimate relationship.” Ming piped in.

“ _ _Ming__. So get this, Zhao actually complimented Newbie – or well, it was kind of a back-handed compliment, but the point is, Newbie insulted Zhao and Zhao didn’t do anything!”

“What? It’s not another Ronju situation, is it? I don’t think his voice has ever sounded the same since, you know, __The Incident__.” A voice from the back shouted incredulously.

They shuddered, remembering how Ronju’s voice cracked and rasped for three days straight before it had finally started returning to normal. Unfortunately, he disappeared at the next port, never to be seen again.

__“A pity,” Zhao had claimed, shaking his head mournfully. “He requested to transfer into the army instead. Such wasted potential.”_ _

__No-one dared to mention the feral, self-satisfied grin curling at the corner of his lips._ _

“No, I don’t think so. Zhao was actually smiling. And he made an innuendo! You wouldn’t do that if you were planning on tearing someone’s tongue out later, would you?”

“Uh, Naku, don’t you think tongues would be awfully relevant to –”

“Not like that, Ming.” Naku replied patiently.

“And what kind of smile? Like a ‘haha, that was funny’ smile or an ‘I’m gonna break your teeth in later’ smile?” Lieutenant Neju asked, eyebrow raised.

“The first one,” Ming said, “I think the second one would’ve been counter-productive anyway, seeing as Zhao would probably like him to keep his teeth so they can –”

“ _ _Ming__.” A chorus of voices broke out, exasperated.

“Alright, alright. Sheesh, you guys sure are prude.”

“Ignoring him,” Riku sighed, “that just about sums up what happened. Zhao’s let one of his personal guards tail him, there’s probably something going on between them, and we barely know anything about Newbie.”

“There’s also another thing…” Naku said hesitantly, “I’m not sure how many people have seen it for themselves, but personally I think Zhao needs some help with his flirting skills.”

“What do you mean?” Hoshi asked, curiosity painted over her features.

“Ming can tell you all about it. Apparently this happened the afternoon after firebending practice.” Naku divulged.

Ming beamed, practically bouncing on his toes.

“Oh yes, I was on rigging duty and I just so happened to be right next to Newbie and Zhao. I decided to risk my life and do a lil’ reconnaissance –”

“He fumbled with the knots for ten minutes. He’s not exactly subtle.” Lieutenant Ikun scoffed from the middle of the room.

“Oh shut up, you.” Ming glared, “I was risking my neck for this. Anyway, Zhao comes up and starts showing off his knot tying knowledge to Newbie, which is a really weird way to flirt by the way, and he teaches him a knot that would,” he cleared his throat brusquely and dropped his voice a few octaves lower to mimic Zhao, “’ _ _tie someone down and keep them tied’.__ ”

“He said that?” More than one voice cried out dubiously.

“Yeah, but I kinda blew my cover,” Ming rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “so he yelled at me and I had to run off before he tied __me__ up.” He paused. “And not for sexy purposes.”

“So it seems Zhao’s courtship ritual includes lots of innuendoes.” Lieutenant Neju speculated, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Although I didn’t know he was… ahem, into the more creative aspects of sex.”

“Is it that surprising though?” Lieutenant Ikun questioned, “He’s a sadist. It’s not a far stretch to think he likes including ropes and all that shit in the bedroom.”

Neju laughed. “I don’t give a flying fuck what he likes. But the lad’s right. Zhao needs help if that’s the best he can come up with. He has no hope of roping someone into sleeping with him that way.” He snickered at his own pun as everyone else pointedly ignored it.

“Alright, so he’s bad at flirting. Why does this concern us?” Ikun challenged.

“Think about it. If Zhao can successfully woo his favourite little guard, doesn’t that mean he’d be in a better mood? Maybe permanently?” Riku pointed out. “If he’s already letting go of incidences he’d have toasted our asses for before, then we might be able to finally relax around this damn ship for once if he’s distracted with someone.”

“That’s true,” Engineer Jaozi interjected, “I was doing a little maintenance on the trebuchet and nearly dropped a wrench on Zhao’s foot. Usually he’d probably pick up the whole toolbox and drop it on my head, but the most he did was yell at me for not being more careful.”

A soldier seated on the left side of the room spoke up. “Yeah, and I saw him trip up Newbie on purpose for shits and giggles. Newbie shoved him back and all he did was laugh. Friendly reminder that this is Zhao we’re talking about.”

Hushed gasps of awe echoed all around. The soldier nodded gravely in the face of everyone’s rapture. “I have no idea what magic Newbie is weaving, but whatever it is, it’s subduing Zhao. They’ll probably get together eventually, but a little help from us could expedite the process.”

“That might… actually work.” Ming said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin in consideration. “But it’s not like we can walk up to him and offer dating advice. Then he’d really burn us down to our boots. We need an excuse to go up to him without good reason.”

“I have an announcement to make which I think would be quite relevant to our cause,” Captain Hoshi declared, standing up. “General Iroh has convinced Admiral Zhao to hold music night tomorrow.”

The second hushed uproar of the night was of disbelief.

“Did Zhao get sick?”

“I knew he was behaving too weirdly to be normal!”

“Where’s the doctor? Has he been to the infirmary lately?”

“No,” Head Medic Sato called back, “he hasn’t required medical attention in a long while.”

“Maybe General Iroh went behind his back and told you we were gonna have music night.”

“ENOUGH!” Captain Hoshi shouted, her voice booming with authority. “We are not to question the admiral’s orders. Lieutenant Syako was tasked to deliver these instructions by Zhao himself.”

“It’s true,” Syako nodded sagely. “General Iroh persuaded him that morale was getting low, so Zhao agreed to a music night to boost up motivation around here again. This happened earlier this morning, after I sparred with the new guy.”

“You sparred with Newbie?” Riku perked up. “How did it go?”

“He’s a good fighter,” Syako acknowledged. “… He beat me.”

“No way,” Naku breathed, “how did Zhao react?”

“Let’s just say he looked really into it,” Syako smirked, twirling a strand of dark hair between her fingers. “But don’t get me wrong, he didn’t exactly fall to his knees in worship. He’s still Zhao; he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. If we’re gonna help him, it can’t be too obvious.” She glared at Ming. “That means you.”

Ming pouted. “What’s the fun in that? Zhao looks like someone who appreciates clear-cut hints.”

“How about we stick to __subtly__ nudging them together?” Captain Hoshi suggested. “At music night tomorrow, we’ll play some love songs, maybe string up a couple lanterns… does anyone know any ballroom dances?”

“The admiral might have been more lenient lately, but he’d sooner turn you into ash than he’d waltz around the deck.” Ming scoffed, “And that’s giving me a horrifying mental image by the way.”

The room seemed to shudder as one as they tried to picture Zhao willingly dancing across the deck without attempting to strangle his partner. It was perturbing, to say the least.

“Okay, so no dancing for the admiral, for the sake of our self-preservation. Who here is on good enough terms with Zhao that they won’t get their face burned off for dropping him hints?” Naku winced.

Everyone shuffled nervously.

“Lieutenant Syako?” Ming prompted.

Syako shook her head slowly, “No, he only knows me for my swordsmanship. He ignores me any other time. What about Captain Hoshi?”

“Ah, I don’t think so.” Hoshi replied nervously, fiddling with her fingers. “The last time I talked to him was in the meeting for music night. I got too excited and he snapped at me to calm down before I made a fool of myself.”

They all seemed to collectively sigh.

“What about any of the medical staff? He won’t murder any of you guys if he can help it, right?” She asked, turning wide, hopeful eyes at Head Medic Sato.

“The last time he was in the infirmary, we were stitching up a dagger wound he’d gotten. He threatened to throw us overboard if we didn’t finish quickly enough for him to go meet with some higher up in ten minutes.” Head Medic Sato replied wryly. “So no, I don’t think he’s above murdering us.”

Ming groaned tiredly and opened his mouth to call on someone else when Engineer Jaozi spoke up from the back of the room.

“We can’t shovel all the responsibility onto one person.” He said firmly, ever the pragmatic. “Listen, we need to split this amongst as many people as possible. Zhao needs heavy-handed hints; if he notices a lot of people pushing him in a certain direction, he’ll be more likely to act.”

Jaozi surveyed the room, ensuring he made eye contact with every individual.

“And, the more people go up to him, the less likely he’ll remember individual faces to take out his anger on if anything goes wrong.”

Mutters of agreement echoed throughout the hall. Lieutenant Ikun cleared his throat.

“Why can’t we just drop the hints to Newbie?”

“Zhao needs to make the first move. He can’t stand it when he’s not in charge or the centre of attention. He has to be put in the spotlight and made to feel like it was his idea in the first place.” Jaozi replied perfunctorily. Lieutenant Ikun mulled it over before nodding.

“Alright, okay. It’s a team effort then.”

He paused, thinking again for another moment.

“What are the chances General Iroh would be willing to help?”

“You’re getting too over your head there,” Neju warned. “He’s a general.”

“He also went around the mess hall asking if anyone wanted to play Pai Sho with him.” Ikun retorted.

“He’s also probably the only person on the ship Zhao wouldn’t dare murder,” Naku pointed out thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. It’s a bit risky. Let’s just call on the contribution of everyone here in the room for the time being. For the sake of the preservation of our lives on this ship, and hopefully a happier admiral, I will do my best to aid Zhao’s love life.” Neju proclaimed earnestly.

Captain Hoshi smiled brightly at his pledge. “I’ll do all I can as well. It’s an honour to work with you all. Tomorrow, we act with strength and courage!”

“Hear, hear!” Ming called out, raising his cup solemnly. Everyone followed suit, determination grim on their faces. Hearts and souls blazing with a passionate desire to see things through to the end for a hopefully better life on board the ship, they chimed their cups together in solidarity and knocked back their drinks.

Thus concluded the week’s Gossip Night.


	5. Of Nightmares and Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have been going a little too smoothly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun-time's over, now we're diving into some serious plot :)

_Zuko was running from something, or someone; he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was that he had to keep moving, twisting, evading and doing whatever he could to shake it off his tail. He could see a curtain up ahead, billowing with the same urgency that was currently coursing through his veins. There wasn’t any time to think; Zuko burst through the maroon fabric –_

_And found himself in the palace’s Agni Kai chamber._

_“No, no, no, no,” Zuko gasped, shrinking back. He knew what was going to happen next. He’s had this dream a million times, all ending the same way: with his father stalking forward, cupping his face with tenderness before his whole world was alight with searing white heat and pain and_ agony –

_Only, the chamber was dark. A lone torch lit up the arena, but only barely. Just enough for him to see a familiar figure standing at the other end of the stage, his back turned to him._

_“Uncle?”_

_Iroh turned around, his face stricken with disappointment, tears streaking down his face and dripping to the ground._

_“Why didn’t you listen to me, Nephew?” He bemoaned, “It wasn’t enough that you spoke out when I told you not to, you had to drag me with you on your banishment…”_

_“No, no, Uncle.” Zuko whimpered. “You told me yourself, you wanted to come with me. Uncle, you know I wouldn’t have stopped you if you wanted to go home. Please, Uncle.”_

_“I’ve been so patient with you, Prince Zuko. But it’s never been enough for you, hasn’t it?” Uncle shook his head sadly, the tears rolling off his face faster now. Zuko whined, making to reach out for him._

_“No, Uncle. It’s –_ you’ve– _been more than enough. Please, stay, just for a little longer…”_

_Uncle shook his head again, hopelessness weighing down his body like a sentenced man chained to a boulder. “I think it’s best you sought out someone else’s guidance.” He turned away again, making to walk into the darkness and disappear and_ leave Zuko all alone –

_“Uncle, please!” Zuko yelled, his arm outstretched, trying to catch onto Uncle’s sleeve. Tears built up in his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked to clear it, but in that one moment, an entirely different figure had replaced Uncle, its form barely silhouetted in the flickering glow of the lonesome torch._

_More than a head taller than Uncle, broad shoulders, standing ramrod straight, with the confidence of someone who demands respect before it’s earned…_

_“… Zhao?”_

_The older man stepped forward out of the shadows, staring down at him critically like one would do with a particularly interesting animal. He seemed to melt back into the shadows before all of a sudden, his presence felt like it was encompassing him all around. Zhao was circling him, eyes raking over Zuko as if he could pry out all his weaknesses with his stare alone._

_“You chase a fickle dream,” Zhao murmured into his ear, breath hot against his face, carrying the smell of burnt flesh and tears, the only smell he could make out on the floor of the Agni Kai chamber three years ago when he was kneeling and screaming and could picture so clearly no matter how much time had passed –_

_“No,” Zuko gasped, “Father will welcome me home with open arms once I capture the Avatar –”_

_Zhao threw his head back and laughed, his teeth glinting dagger-sharp and gleaming like sharpened knives ready for a hunt. His eyes were brimming with a malicious amber light, bright and scorching like the fire that was pressed against his face, wreathing his world in pain and suffering but teaching a lesson all the same –_

_“He’ll welcome you to purgatory,” Zhao whispered, smiling. It was not a nice smile. It was cold, so cold, too cold for someone of Fire Nation blood, for someone who is supposed to be a leading figure of authority, for someone supposed to inspire others to follow in his wake._

_It was his father’s smile, Zuko realized as icy tendrils of dread slithered down his spine._

_Still, he grasped at straws, desperate for some sort of denial, reasoning, argument, anything to fire back at the stark, terror-inspiring statement._

_“He’s my father,” Zuko managed to choke out before another harsh, grating laugh rang out from Zhao’s mouth._

_“He’d sooner spill the blood of an entire division before he deigns to gaze upon his own son with affection. He_ has _spilled the blood of an entire division. But did you ever see him gift you love?” Zhao grinned, rivulets of blood staining his teeth crimson and running down his chin, dripping onto the floor and turning it_ red – red – red _._ _He counted each drop with morbid horror as they hit the ground with a ‘splat’._

_Forty-one drops._

_“He loves me,” Zuko refuted weakly, even as his mouth felt like cotton and the ugly head of doubt reared up in his mind._

_“He_ tolerates _you,” Zhao corrected, “and he demands blood in return. He demands a little boy’s blood in return.” The smile was still there, still demented, still mocking and cruel and tainted with the distant memory of a sneer twisting an enraged face as he failed a firebending form for the sixth time in a row._

_“Don’t try to pin this on me,” Zuko tried to snarl, but whimpered instead. “You were, are, doing the same thing.”_

_“But how much of me is left to care?” Zhao asked, the smile finally slipping off his face. Crimson dripped from the corners of his mouth sluggishly, turning black and thick and into soot that drifted gently to the stained ground. His entire expression softened, mournful and lost. “You’re not like me. You don’t seek to maim nor kill. How much of me is left that still responds to the call of mercy?”_

_It took a moment’s hesitation, but Zuko couldn’t stop the truth from bursting out._

_“Enough,” Zuko rasped. “There’s enough of you left. You… you showed me mercy. You didn’t have to offer me a way out. You didn’t need to, you – you usually_ wouldn’t. _You’re not – you’re not as ruthless as… as…”_

As father.

_Zuko’s lips sealed shut, not wanting to acknowledge the treasonous, hateful thoughts that were about to spill out. Zhao reached up, as slow and tender as the first night when he offered to help him shave; his fingers brushed over his scarred ear and Zuko barely managed not to flinch away. Zhao leaned in once again, but the blazing cruelty in his eyes had dimmed to embers, flickering with emotions Zuko couldn’t even begin to discern. The smell of ash and death grew stronger._

_“So why can’t you do the same to the Avatar?”_

Zuko woke up.

Chest heaving, heart pounding, his breaths coming out in stuttered gasps, Zuko could barely register his surroundings. Distantly, he noticed that the storm had cleared, and judging from the barely brightening sky, it was minutes before sunrise. Zuko breathed heavily, curling his fingers around his sweat-slick palms.

_‘Just a dream,’_ he thought desperately, _‘it was just a dream.’_

He lay still, boring his gaze into the ceiling, trying to reign in his galloping heart and turmoiled thoughts. It took several minutes before he managed to gather his mind enough to realize a few things in succession:

One: sometime in the night, the pillow barricade had been demoted to the bottom corner of the bed. Which meant there was nothing separating Zuko from Zhao.

Two: there was a heavy, muscled arm currently draped across Zuko’s chest.

Three: the arm was attached to a very much still sleeping Zhao. Whose sleeping face was only an inch away from Zuko’s wide-awake face.

Four: their legs were tangled together. He could feel everything from Zhao’s thighs to the contour of his calves.

Zuko had never been renowned for his insight and reasoning, but in that moment, he proceeded to undergo the most natural and logical reaction:

He panicked.

His limbs twitched with the desire to flail and his heart started picking up again. No, no, no, no, no, he never thought he’d end up in this kind of situation. Even when he was jammed together with Uncle, they didn’t have more contact than shoulders or backs pressed together come morning. Never anything this… intimate.

Maybe he could slide his legs out from under him. And do something about the arm weighing down on his chest. He stole a glance at the sky outside, seeing he had a few more minutes before dawn broke and Zhao woke up like all firebenders were inclined to do.

The arm looked like a good place to start.

Zuko studied Zhao’s face closely to make sure he was still deeply asleep enough that he wouldn’t wake up at the slightest movement. The man’s face was relaxed, his breaths steady and even, and he could feel the slightest puff against the skin of his shoulder with every exhale.

Alright, he can work with this.

Zuko carefully shifted his left arm and gingerly grabbed Zhao’s wrist. He eyed the other man cautiously again, and when his eyes didn’t so much as flutter, began the process of gently prying his arm off. He’d barely managed to lift Zhao’s forearm by a couple centimetres when he felt the muscles underneath his fingers suddenly tense.

Zuko held still, barely allowing himself to breathe. A few beats passed before he felt Zhao relax again. He released the breath he was holding slowly and continued his mission anew.

Gently, gently now.

All was going well until Zhao grunted. Zuko paused again, praying the man wasn’t about to wake up.

Let it be known by the decree of all realms, mortal and spiritual, that the universe _hated_ Zuko.

In his moment of nervousness, Zuko had let his hold on Zhao’s arm go lax, letting the man break out of his grip with ease. Zhao groaned, snuffled, and curled his arm around him in a new, tighter grip.

Zuko fought to keep a despairing keen from escaping his lips. What was he supposed to do now? He could probably break out of this armlock, but he’d need both hands. Which meant the risk of Zhao waking up was greater than ever.

He had no choice.

Zuko slowly reached up, keeping an eye trained on Zhao for any signs of waking, all his focus on the admiral’s face.

… Which didn’t end up being the wisest choice as he failed to notice the first rays of Agni peaking over the horizon.

Zhao’s eyes snapped open. And met Zuko’s wide-eyed, alarmed stare.

_‘Oh, fu-_ ’ __

“WHAT IN BLAZING HELL IS GOING ON?!”

In a flash, they had untangled their legs amidst much cursing and panicked scrambling. Zhao had retrieved his arm and was now holding it close to his bare chest as if it had been dunked in scalding water. Zuko had practically flown over to one side of the bed and was in peril of falling off, while Zhao near teleported to the other side, pressing against the wall as if he was trying to meld himself into it.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, once they had both gathered their brains, the shouting began.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY ON YOUR SIDE!” Zhao bellowed, always the first to get his word in.

“ME? YOU WERE THE ONE CUDDLING UP TO ME!” Zuko yelled back in disbelief. Was he serious right now? Who was the one who had to suffer the weight of an entire arm bearing down on them?

“I DON’T _CUDDLE!_ ” Zhao practically spat out the word, “Where’s the barrier – boundary line –whatever?”

Zuko wordlessly pointed to the pillow clinging rather pathetically to the bottom edge of the bed. Zhao scowled and seemed to reassess the midline of the bed.

“You must’ve moved onto my side,” he deduced, as if the evidence was laid out all over the mattress.

“I hate to break it to you, but it was clearly your arm that invaded my side.” Zuko retorted flatly.

“Your legs were in my space.”

“Oh no, no, you can’t shift all the blame on me. You were breathing on my shoulder. You probably moved first.” Zuko laughed half-hysterically, hands raised.

“Ridiculous,” Zhao scoffed, as if the notion was inconceivable. “I understand what personal space means.”

“And you think I don’t?” Zuko asked incredulously. “Just because you don’t want anyone knowing you’re a cuddler –”

“I don’t cuddle!” Zhao vehemently denied again, a snarl twisting his features. “I would know, I’ve never voluntarily wrapped myself around someone like a parasite in my sleep!”

“And how many times were you in a situation where you could _wrap around someone like a parasite_?” Zuko asked sceptically.

Zhao raised an eyebrow.

“Every so often when we reach port and I have the urge to blow off a little steam.” He replied point blank, completely straight-faced.

Blood crept into Zuko’s cheeks.

“I – ugh, never mind. Well who’s to say we both didn’t move?” He sniffed imperiously, trying to look as haughty as possible.

“What, you’re saying we naturally gravitated towards each other?” Zhao scowled, “Please, you’re hardly someone I’d want to be near, much less touch.”

“You’re giving yourself an awful lot of credit,” Zuko snapped back, “you’re making it sound like I _wanted_ to move closer to you.”

“Well what other explanation is there? You literally told me last night that your uncle would cuddle you when –”

“THAT WAS A LONG TIME AGO!” Zuko yelped, “I DON’T HAVE ANY – ANY – ANY DESIRE TO SEEK COMFORT FROM YOU! YOU’RE NOTHING LIKE MY UNCLE AND YOU NEVER COULD BE!”

Zhao’s face filled with utter horror for a moment.

“Oh spirits, I don’t want to turn into a tea-drinking lunatic.”

Zuko gaped.

“That’s what you’re concerned about?!”

Zhao seemed to recover immediately as he retaliated with, “No! What stands is that someone moved during the night and it was most likely you.”

“HOW ARE YOU SO OBTUSE?” Zuko practically screeched, frustration boiling over in the form of steam snorted out of his nose.

“It’s called reasoning,” Zhao growled, “you might like to try it sometime, you little whelp –”

Three knocks rapped against the door.

“Admiral Zhao?” A voice called out from behind. “Sir? Are you alright? We heard shouting.”

“We’re fine!” Zhao threw back, almost violently swinging out of bed and clambering over Zuko’s legs as the prince squawked in indignation. The admiral ignored him and made to throw on a tunic, tugging it closed sharply, forgoing his armour in favour of glaring daggers at Zuko and roaring, “ _Apparently_ , I had to start the day with a dispute about property ownership of a shared bed!”

It felt like everything froze at once. Zhao went rigid, Zuko felt his soul leave his body, and silence fell on the other side of the door.

“Oh! Er… sorry to interrupt, sir!” The voice replied, badly disguising its awkwardness.

“There is nothing to interrupt,” Zhao barked, “we’re done!”

He blanched almost immediately and quickly amended, “With this conversation, I mean! Argh!”

He punched the wall as fire burst out of his fists in his frustration, looking as if he were one second away from committing genocide.

“Oh Agni, stop making things worse.” Zuko moaned, burying his face in his hands. “There’s literally no way this can get more mortifying.”

And because the universe hates him with every fibre of its cosmic being, Uncle was standing between two soldiers on the other side of the door by the time Zhao yanked it open. Zuko was suddenly extremely thankful the universe allowed him to at least get dressed before his impending doom.

* * *

It was so very, very awkward once they had settled down enough to have breakfast. Upon opening the door, Zhao had found himself under the full brunt of Iroh’s appalled and scandalized expression. The look on his face was akin to as if Zhao had grabbed his precious nephew and lasciviously ravished him right in front of Iroh’s very eyes.

Zhao had a sudden urge to scream at the universe from the prow of the ship.

It probably didn’t help that he had been so infuriated he didn’t bother fixing his sleep-mussed hair or put on his full uniform before he answered the door.

Zhao bit back the very real scream building up in his throat.

They hadn’t said anything to each other since the entire… incident had begun. It was honestly hard to tell whether or not silence was more preferable to any headway of conversation. At least Iroh had schooled his face back to more or less normalcy. Although he has now resorted to eyeing both him and Zuko with an appraising look that had them feeling extremely on edge.

Iroh poured out their morning cups of tea and handed it over. Zhao accepted his cup with stiff hands, taking a couple terse sips in a futile attempt to calm himself. Being eyed up by the elderly man was a sudden, harsh reminder that this was the Dragon of the West he was dealing with. A retired dragon, yes, but since when did dragons lose their ferocity even in old age?

“I understand,” Iroh began carefully, “that neither of you were anticipating what happened to… happen.”

Zuko pointedly avoided eye contact. Zhao stared very hard at Iroh’s chin, not wanting to back down but also very much not wanting to look him in the eyes.

“But I want you to know,” Iroh continued, a small and understanding smile lilting at the corners of his mouth, “I want you _both_ to know, that the love between two saber-tooth moose lions is no less beautiful than that between a lion and lioness.”

“ _No_ ,” Zuko choked out, a mix between pained, horrified, and disgusted. Zhao looked a little ill as he placed his chopsticks down beside him on the table.

“General Iroh,” Zhao said firmly, steepling his fingers. “I know that what you heard this morning was very… implicative towards certain things, but I’m afraid your line of thought may be guiding you astray.”

He waved between himself and Zuko.

“This situation came about by a series of unfortunate events that also coincidentally happened at the wrong time. I assure you, there is nothing going on between us that is beyond a strictly professional relationship.”

He leaned back, this time able to meet Iroh’s gaze with dogged determination. _‘Your move, old man.’_ He thought, readying himself to refute anything else Iroh had up his sleeve. To his dismay, another player with a far less subtle touch decided to enter the game.

“Yeah,” Zuko piped up. “The storm was rocking the ship a lot last night and I couldn’t even get close to falling asleep. So Zhao offered to let me share his bed for the night and we accidentally got into each other’s space. That was it, Uncle. Nothing else happened.” The prince insisted, desperation clear in his face.

_‘Idiot child,’_ Zhao cursed, _‘why can’t you just let me handle this?’_

Iroh smiled indulgently. “Oh, of course Nephew. My mistake, I’m sure nothing more happened.” He winked. _Winked_. Zhao suppressed the grimace fighting to break out. The man was old enough to be _his_ father, and if he felt mortified about his attempts at involving himself in this, he couldn’t imagine what the princeling was feeling.

One stolen glance at Zuko told Zhao all he needed to know. The young prince was evidently pushing down the desire to slide under the table and disappear into oblivion.

“But Zhao,” Iroh turned his attention back to him, levelling him with a serious look. “Whilst Zuko is considered of age, I am trusting that you will not take advantage of –”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Zhao interrupted just as Zuko started turning puce, “I’m putting a stop to this. For peace of your mind, General; let me make one thing very clear: there is nothing going on. It’s not what you think. Now please, if we may finish breakfast in peace. There’s a long day ahead of us and I believe you have a music night to look forward to.”

Iroh seemed like he wanted to protest but eventually acquiesced, finally allowing his attention to be drawn towards the bun that had been cooling on his plate for the last ten minutes.

“Very well, Admiral.” Iroh chuckled, breaking open the soft, pillowy outside and letting the steam escape. “I suppose I can’t fault either of you. It is a wondrous thing to see you both getting along so much better than before. And,” he looked up with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “now that we are nearing colder waters, it is beneficial to share body heat, after all.”

Would it be considered treason if he threw the Fire Lord’s older brother overboard?

* * *

“- send a messenger hawk to the other ships, make sure their respective commanders are aware of the course for the next few days. Ah, and send out another reminder that the first music night will be commencing tonight; the extent of their participation I leave up to their discretion.”

The scribe bowed, gathered his writing tools and left the room. Zhao stayed seated at the head of the table, giving the documents laid in front of him one last thorough read-through. Zuko was posted beside the doorway but slouched against the wall once the room was cleared and only him and Zhao remained.

Zhao made a quick mark on his schedule. Mid-morning meeting concluded, the only thing left to do was deal with the paperwork waiting for him in his private quarters. Overseeing the preparations for music night was thankfully taken over by General Iroh – a responsibility he was more than happy to fork over. He didn’t know the first thing about planning that sort of event; it wasn’t exactly part of the curriculum back at the Fire Nation Naval Academy.

He chanced a fleeting glimpse at the prince, who seemed to be rather despondent this morning. At first, he’d attributed it to the fiasco before breakfast, but this seemed different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the prince’s usual sullenness weighed heavier around him today.

Zuko was picking at his sleeve when he noticed Zhao’s stare. When the other man raised a questioning eyebrow at him, a wave of defensiveness rose out of nowhere.

“What?” He asked waspishly. A miniscule part of him twitched at how childish he was acting, but it was easy to push down.

“You’re behaving rather oddly today, that’s all.”

He had been running the dream from last night over and over in his head, actually. Each re-run seemed to blend the cocktail of emotions twisting up inside him even more until he wasn’t sure what he was feeling and what he should be feeling. But what did stand out to him was the overwhelming uncertainty he looked at Zhao with now after the dream. It felt like his entire perception of the man had changed and now he wasn’t sure if he could discern dream from reality.

“It’s nothing.”

Zhao scoffed. “If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be sulking like a six-year old.”

But then again, the incident of this morning made him feel more… human, in a way. Zhao’s reactions, adamantine insistence and mortification had broken down his stony exterior completely, enough for Zuko to see that maybe the other man wasn’t all that different to him after all. If his father had been caught in a similar situation, he’d no doubt burn any witnesses to his blunder to ashes.

And if it were Azula, she’d emulate Father’s example and tie up loose ends by the way of torment and death.

All Zhao did was… rage and shout at Zuko and his men. There was fire, but it was lashed against the walls rather than a person. And it was enough, perhaps, for Zuko to let his guard down enough to confide in him.

Zuko sighed and sat down at the other end of the table. Zhao wasn’t exactly the best person to go to for this, but Uncle would probably blabber proverbs that would confuse more than help him. And it wasn’t like he could go up to a random crewman and ask their advice for sorting out his nightmare-induced turmoil.

_‘I think it’s best you sought out someone else’s guidance.’_

Zuko flinched involuntarily.

“What would you do if you had a bad dream and you feel like it was trying to tell you something, but you also can’t make sense of it?” Zuko asked hesitantly. He was wholly preparing for Zhao to make fun of him, to laugh and scorn him and tell him that he shouldn’t be wasting his time on something so frivolous.

But Zhao only looked at him contemplatively.

“Dreams are often like that. Either they bid you to carry out a mission or they forewarn you of something. Sometimes dreams are simply pure nonsense.”

Zuko licked his lips nervously. “What if I can’t tell which one it is?”

“Then you wait. Destiny will run its due course; there’s no reason for you to fight against it.”

_‘He’ll welcome you to purgatory,’_ an unbidden whisper echoed in his mind, in the same silky tone that was speaking to him now, out here in the real world.

“What if… what if it feels like I’m already living out the dream and I still don’t know what to do?” Desperation tinged his voice involuntarily.

Zhao looked at him with an inscrutable expression. “You should at least make an effort to do something. Sitting back passively won’t do you any favours; seize the day and all that.”

“You sound like my uncle,” Zuko muttered, “just without the confusing proverbs.”

Zhao snorted at that. “Lord Agni I would hope not. I’m not about to start cultivating an inclination for spouting advice in the face of nephews in need of help while having tea physically attached to my person.”

Then he seemed to consider Zuko for a long moment. “What brought all this on anyway?”

Zuko clutched the edge of the table tightly, knuckles going white and eyes trained onto the grain of the wood. He was taking a gamble here. Not wanting to divulge too much, but also desperately wanting to know something he’d been curious about…

He took the plunge.

“The Agni Kai three years ago… before I blacked out, I remembered seeing you sitting behind Uncle and Azula. You were smiling.”

To his horror, he felt a familiar prickle in his eyes as humiliated tears began to teem at the edges, hot and heavy. He took a deep, shuddering breath, pressing on and hoping his voice wouldn’t crack.

“Why?”

Zhao stared on impassively, not a slip in his mask to be seen.

“When you’re in a pit of chameleon-vipers, the best way to make sure you don’t get picked off is by shedding your skin and growing in scales that match everyone else’s.” He answered nonchalantly.

“So what, did it feel good seeing me lying on the ground with half my face burned off?” Zuko spat, hands trembling.

“I didn’t feel one way or the other,” was Zhao’s flippant response. Zuko stared at him in shock. He… wasn’t sure how to deal with that. Glad because Zhao didn’t relish in his torment? Vexed at his lack of sympathy? He shook his head out of his stupor.

“Figures you’d be like Azula,” Zuko laughed humourlessly, “you both don’t feel anything.”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty to say she didn’t feel anything.” Zhao intoned seriously.

“What?” His voice nearly cracked in surprise.

“She hadn’t quite managed to perfect her aloof façade back then. It was a commendable effort, but her mask had enough slips to see some part of her still cared. As a sibling concerned for her older brother? I’m not sure, but; she didn’t take as much vindictive pleasure as she tried to.”

Zuko sat in disbelief. No, no, no, Azula would never. She hasn’t cared in a long while. Not since her bending came in and ensnared their father’s attention, tearing a rift between them that clearly separated them onto two distinct sides.

“You’re lying.”

“What do I have to gain telling you all this?” Zhao sneered. “You asked, I answered. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Azula hasn’t cared in a long time. I don’t see how you of all people could tell what she was feeling.”

“It takes a liar to know one.” Zhao stated bluntly.

That had Zuko jerking his head up in surprise. “You admit you’re a liar?”

“I know who I am. I know which sides I have. Being a liar is a necessity in the court.” The other said matter-of-factly. Zuko smiled bitterly, the age-old mantra he’d been chanting as a child rolling off his tongue in familiar motions.

“Azula always lies.”

Zhao nodded. “And that’s why she succeeded where you failed. She had slips in her mask, but she had the strength to keep looking on. I looked on. Everyone looked on. Your uncle was the only one that turned away.”

“He cared about me enough to look away.” Zuko glowered.

“He turned away because he was a coward. How long before he turns away from you now?” The admiral bit out impatiently.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Uncle would never turn his back on me!” Zuko shouted, fury coursing through his blood, red-hot and raging. But Zhao didn’t back down, instead looking encouraged to push on.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why the Avatar escapes your grasp every time you think you have him? You have the Dragon of the West on your side – a military genius and one of the best firebenders known even today. If he were truly interested in helping you get home, you’d be back in the palace by now and not sitting here trying to convince me of something you’re in denial over.”

“He’s offering me guidance, he doesn’t want to take over my mission for me. Uncle knows that the only way to restore my honour is if I do this myself.” Zuko said thinly. “You know nothing.”

“ _I_ know that your uncle is stopping you from reaching your full potential. Why hasn’t he passed down any of his personal techniques to you? Why hasn’t he truly pushed you to your limits?” Zhao fired back. “Your uncle made you soft, when you should have been hard. He taught you to submit, when you should have led. You know the meaning of perseverance, but it’s nothing when you don’t know how to take action.”

Zuko’s fists clenched. Fire curled underneath his palms, whispering with the promise to _burn, burn, burn._ Zhao didn’t seem to notice his growing anger as he continued, “Ever since he lost his son, the Dragon of the West sees you as his hatchling. But he’s clipped your wings, dulled your fangs, filed down your claws. And you _thank_ him for it.”

“You don’t know anything!” Zuko roared, and it was only because his face was covered that he allowed the frustration to roil over into hot, angry tears. “Don’t you dare talk about him that way. You have no right!”

“You’ve been blinded!” Zhao bellowed, “Your uncle fell the day he tore down the walls of Ba Sing Se; but unlike the city, he never bothered to build himself back up!”

Why couldn’t he see it? Why did he have to refuse logic when it was presented to him? Couldn’t the prince see that Zhao was only pointing out the obvious? Did he not know that Zhao could have easily turned a blind eye, allow his uncle to continue leading him down pathways that ended up nowhere?

He didn’t know what damn spirit possessed him to even answer these inane questions in the first place but now that he had started, he found he couldn’t stop.

“How can you even conceive capturing the last hope of the world when you keep letting people snuff out yours?”

It felt like something inside Zuko broke. He had felt so, so angry – angrier than he’d ever been. He couldn’t control the rage that twisted within his chest, lighting up and entangling with his inner fire, harnessing a blaze that hungered to consume this entire ship and more. But then flashes of dream Iroh turning away from him, coupled with what Zhao was saying now – it felt like there was some truth to what he was saying, and a tiny part of him was acknowledging it.

And as much as he tried to block it out, it re-ignited over and over again, refusing to lay to rest. It was easier to feel nothing than it was to face the torrent of emotions battering at him from the inside. Cold emptiness was by far more welcoming than raging fury.

He said nothing. He felt nothing.

“Enough of this nonsense. I’m going back to my cabin,” Zhao finally snapped, the familiar spark of irritation burning in his eyes. “Follow.”

_‘Familiar is good,’_ Zuko reminded himself, wrapping his arms around his body as if it could chase away the numbness seeping into his body. One step forward, two steps back. The same song and dance he’d ever known with this man.

* * *

It was quiet in Zhao’s quarters as he tackled his mountain of paperwork with a vengeance. Zuko was sitting sullenly on the bed, reading through a few historical scrolls that had been tucked inside the drawers of the desk.

Zhao had signed an entire stack of documents before he stole a glance at Zuko. The prince had been unnervingly silent; the only sound coming from him was the occasional unfurling of scrolls. Ever since their disagreement, he’d been uncharacteristically quiet and stock-still. Usually he’d be shuffling around, stretching, maybe even running through cold katas as Zhao worked, but for the past hour, he’d remained in his one spot poring over scroll after scroll.

Whatever. If he wanted to throw a tantrum because he couldn’t handle hearing the truth, then it was none of Zhao’s concern. He huffed under his breath, moving on to a small pile of unopened letters addressed to him.

One from Commander Yuka detailing updated proposed strategies for their ground forces. He’ll deal with that later. Admittedly, he was hardly an expert when it came to land troops, so it was the best course of action to consult General Iroh.

Another from Governor Kenji of some colony they’d stopped by a few weeks ago, thanking him for dropping off cargo. Does this even deign a reply? He’d only agreed because it was on his way anyway, and he wanted to keep up good relations with the merchant Governer Kenji had commissioned.

Letter from an outpost requesting soldiers if he could spare them. Not likely. Who the hell was running this outpost anyway, if they were reaching out to him directly instead of going through the chain of command properly?

The last one was a letter from home. Zhao frowned deeply at it. It wasn’t like he had an absolutely atrocious relationship with his family, but there was a distance they haven’t been able to bridge for a few years now. Although that could be chalked up to his visits being few and far in between ever since he’d attained positions as a commanding officer. That, and they rarely reached out to him for simple pleasantries only. He gingerly peeled away the seal to scan the contents.

_‘Dear Zhao,_

_We hope you’ve been doing well. That is, besides doing well for yourself. Imagine our surprise and delight to find you’ve been promoted to admiral! And to think we had to find out from Lady Xian – I believe her son is currently serving under Admiral Chan, but is looking to transfer to your fleet instead._

_You have done us proud, son, for bringing great honour to our family. We understand there are others who question your rise in rank, but –’_

Zhao snarled, refusing to read on. Of course he knew what others were whispering behind his back. He could practically hear the rumours milling about in the mainland from his ship.

_How did someone as young as him rise in rankings months in between?_

_He’s too ambitious for his own good. Sooner or later, he’ll crash and burn for getting too ahead of himself._

_He doesn’t have enough experience to become a true leader. True, he has achieved more conquests than the rest of his peers, but that doesn’t make up for all the other factors._

_The only child of the family. Such a shame he was selfishly putting himself at risk for the sake of pursuing a military career when he should be placing his focus on maintaining the family legacy._

Zhao’s hands trembled in anger, half a second away from burning the letter. Right. There was a reason why he rarely went home. Rumours always followed him like a plague, courtesy of nobles that disregarded where they were sticking their noses in. His parents had always offered him empty reassurances and validation whenever they caught wind. And it might’ve worked, if the shallowness weren’t so blatant in their eyes. A shallowness he was well-acquainted with utilizing himself.

_After all,_ he thought bitterly, _adeptness in sailing wasn’t the only thing passed down to him from his family._

Forget it. He threw the letter into the wastebasket under his desk with all the other unimportant papers to burn later. Upon his return home after his success in the Northern Water Tribe, all rumours would be effectively quashed, and no-one will ever doubt the prowess and skill of his own making again.

To distract himself, he fished out his half drawn up plans for dealing with the aftermath of the siege. The Avatar, of course, will be restrained in the brig in all the chains they could afford. He wasn’t making the same mistake as he did at Pohuai Stronghold – security will not be nearly as lax. Guards were going to line the entire pathway to the Avatar’s cell. The Avatar himself will be placed under drug-induced sleep when they didn’t need him lucid for feeding and hydration. And with Zuko on his side, he had also secured the aid of Iroh as well. Even better, no masked thieves to steal his prize.

He’d probably need to break the Avatar’s arms and legs as well to ensure he can’t bend or move around easily on the off chance he manages to escape his cell. After all, nobody has encountered an airbender for a hundred years. Who knew what they were capable of? All his knowledge on the air nomads was based off what he was taught in school, as well as the scrolls he’d managed to procure over the years. Speaking of…

“I’m not entirely sure what the Avatar is playing at,” Zhao wondered aloud. “He has all that power at his disposal but it’s like he refuses to use it. According to Fire Lord Sozin’s records, airbenders had the ability to bend the air out of someone’s lungs in order to suffocate them, even from a distance. It’s beyond me why he hasn’t used it against anyone yet.”

The local Avatar expert refused to respond. He tried again, “There is also the matter of a failed waterbender and that useless savage who parades around pretending to be a warrior,” Zhao chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t doubt they wouldn’t be prepared to defend the Avatar with their meagre lives. Unfortunately something else to factor in regarding the Avatar’s capture, but it can’t be helped.”

A noncommittal shrug. Zhao swallowed down his irritation in favour of scrawling a few notes on the parchment laid out in front of him. 

“Under normal circumstances, the waterbending girl would pose a threat,” he hummed, tapping the brush handle against his bottom lip thoughtfully. “But the weak grasp she has over her own element is quite laughable, in all honesty. I suspect it was luck more than anything that’s allowed her to travel with the Avatar thus far. I suppose the same could be said for the other Water Tribe whelp.”

Again, no response. Not even a sign of acknowledgement.

“At this point I’m not even sure if it’s worth keeping them alive. What use could they possibly bring? Although Minister Cheng expressed to me in the last war council that he’d always been curious about Water Tribe women. I’d offer the girl to him for political favour, but she barely looks like she’s reached womanhood.” He paused, and grimaced. “Actually, never mind. Cheng’s always had a taste for younger girls.”

Not even a sliver of disgust appeared on Zuko’s blank face. Strange, that little fact almost always forced involuntary revulsion to slither over someone’s expression.

“Now the Water Tribe boy on the other hand,” Zhao went on, “what do they keep him around for? A non-bender of little skill.” he tutted, “Maybe we’ll just do away with him. No need to kick up a fuss over nothing.”

Wasn’t the boy rather fond of animals?

“I’d bet that creature of the Avatar’s would fetch a pretty penny. An animal thought to be extinct, and the Avatar’s companion no less. It would be a spectacle everyone would want to lay their eyes on. What is it called again? Flying yak?”

“Sky bison,” Zuko informed him dully. Finally, a few words.

“That. No doubt it will be paraded around the streets in triumph before getting shipped off to a zoo. Or maybe some gluttonous noble’s dinner plate.” He shook his head in amusement. “What does a creature need six legs for, anyway?”

Odd. Very odd. The prince only eyed him with tired resignation before turning his attention back to the scroll in his hands. Perhaps he was craving a little kindness?

“Is there anything specific you want for lunch?” He prodded, “Your choice for today. I’m not feeling partial to anything right now.”

Zuko shrugged impassively.

Zhao extinguished the flicker of annoyance welling up and scoffed. “Be that way then. And here I thought our alliance was turning out for the better.”

Even that didn’t get a rise out of the prince. He shoved down the stirrings of worry rising in his chest. If he didn’t cheer up by the time music night came around, General Iroh would start asking questions.

Perhaps it was time to plan a few contingencies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, it's gotta get worse before it gets better amirite ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	6. Music Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music night has finally arrived and things don't seem to have gotten better between Zuko and Zhao. The crew is plotting and Iroh is just living his best life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been on a roll lately (roughly 5 chapters ahead of this one!) but the amount of editing I need to do makes me wanna cry. Still 100% invested in this fic tho so I'll tough it out lol
> 
> Anyway, this was gonna be the second half of chapter 5 but if I kept them together the entire chapter would be 14k+ words lmao
> 
> Also I've added chapter titles (the same ones I use to mark each chapter on my writing doc) cos I figured I may as well put them to use.

The main deck had been decorated the best it could, considering music night had only been announced a day ago. Iroh had happily directed the placement of the lanterns the crew had helpfully suggested as décor, stringing them around the surrounding rails and along strategic places on the deck itself to create a warmly lit atmosphere.

Due to the sheer number of people on the ship, the mess hall had also been recruited to hold music night. Iroh had of course been delighted _(‘more places to spread the joy of music night, Admiral!’),_ but Zhao had no plans to visit the mess hall at all – preferring the open space and fresh air on the deck.

Chairs and stools were scattered around and formed a wide circle in the middle of the deck to serve as a dance space and give room for the performers. The cooks had obliged Iroh’s request for refreshments, supplying platters of simple fare and brewing enough tea to sate even Iroh’s unquenchable thirst for the drink.

There weren’t many musically inclined members on board the ship, but a large portion of the crew had picked up some skill in instruments either from their school days or during their time in the navy or army learning war songs. Those who had brought instruments with them on the expedition busied themselves with tuning and warming up, hardly able to believe they were allowed to play on the main deck rather than sequestered away in their cabins.

Zhao himself was on standby, feeling incredibly out of place as he stood amongst the rush of soldiers running around setting up tables and mopping the deck till immaculacy.

And then a soldier approached with hastened pace, bowing appropriately and waiting for Zhao to grant him permission to speak. Zhao took great satisfaction in that, the thrill of possessing such authority had become a familiar but no less enjoyable sensation.

“Sir? Commander Sook enquired if alcohol was permissible tonight.”

He certainly wasn’t against his men enjoying a drink, but his primary reason for stocking alcohol on the ships was as a treat for the fleet after the fall of the North. 

Oh, but what was the harm? He’d allowed himself to splurge a little for a few extra crates from the leftover money of the extremely generous grant given to fund the expedition.

“Very well.” He replied airily, “tell him and all other commanders that they are allowed to partake in no more than fifteen percent of the total stock of alcohol. And warn them that they, and myself, will not tolerate anyone drinking themselves into a stupor.”

The soldier bowed again before scurrying off to relay his orders. Another soldier that had just finished setting up a table next to them peered at Zhao hopefully.

“Sir? Does that mean –”

“Oh, go ahead.” Zhao rolled his eyes, pretending to be exasperated. “Don’t touch the good stuff, though.” He warned.

“Of course, sir, thank you, sir!”

He watched, amused as the young recruit scampered off eagerly to rope a few of his fellow crewmates into digging out the crates of alcohol from the hold. Let it be known that Admiral Zhao had his generous moments.

Not often.

But even he had to take a break from scheming sometimes.

* * *

Music night opened with a rocky start. All eyes were on the admiral, who had fumbled slightly with uncertainty before pushing the responsibility of initiating the first musical number onto General Iroh. The old man took over with gusto, instructing the motley band gathered in the middle of the circle to begin with a simple sailor’s ballad.

Eventually everyone found their footing and a few brave souls initiated a few dances – what little they learned from various sources. The hesitation melted away slowly but surely, and light-hearted chatter began to fill the night air.

Select members of the Gossip Night society congregated in a corner a distance away from Zhao and Newbie, who were tucked away in their own corner watching the proceedings.

“Alright,” Naku whispered covertly, “who’s going up first?”

All eyes went to the highest-ranking member currently standing amongst them.

Captain Hoshi made eye contact with Ming, who nodded with flinty determination. She swallowed, steeling her nerves as she walked up to Zhao. She’s faced down a squadron of earthbenders with nothing more than a handful of her soldiers and her own willpower. She’s razed encampments of insurgents to the ground and kicked down more war criminals than she’d ever cared to count. She can handle trying to sway her volatile commanding officer into making a move.

“It’s a lovely night isn’t it, sir?” She smiled beatifically, keeping her voice light and sweet. Zhao barely glanced at her and grunted in affirmation. Charming.

“I think the lanterns work wonders turning this whole place alive,” she tried again, “some would say it’s the perfect place for the beginnings of romance.”

That caught Zhao’s attention. Unfortunately, not the right kind of attention.

“If a couple lanterns on a battleship are all that is required for romance, then these people severely need higher standards.” Zhao scoffed derisively. Newbie was impassive, giving no hints as to what he was thinking.

“Would you… would you prefer if we took down the lanterns, sir?” Hoshi asked nervously. Maybe Zhao preferred the mystery darkness afforded. He certainly seemed like he’d enjoy slinking around in the dark with nothing more than the light of the moon. A moonlit romance, of sorts.

He dashed Hoshi’s hopes pretty quickly though, when all he did was offer her a scathing glare.

“Oh yes, I would love nothing more than have all the lanterns dimmed so the musicians can’t see which notes they’re playing. That would really liven up the festivities.” Zhao drawled sardonically.

“My apologies, sir. I only wished to know if there were any improvements to the atmosphere you’d like to see.” She murmured, trying to appear placating and docile.

Zhao suddenly smiled, sharp-toothed and faux-friendly. “Well, Captain Hoshi, there may be something that could be improved after all.”

“Really? What is it, sir?” Hoshi perked up, despite fighting against the chills that ran down her spine. Her instincts were screaming at her like frightened prey would in the face of a dangerous predator, but optimism overruled her urge to run off in the opposite direction.

“It appears that I’d like to enjoy what little peace there is in this hullabaloo, but there is currently a nagging, incessant mosquito-gnat currently flitting about my ears. I’m sure you could do something about it, right Captain?” He purred, looking very much like he was about to tear out her throat.

Hoshi swallowed nervously. Never mind. Abort mission. Effective immediately. “Of course, sir. I’ll take my leave now.”

As soon as he dismissed her, Hoshi scampered away to the gaggle of soldiers on the opposite side of the deck.

“How’d it go?” Ming asked apprehensively. Judging by the downcast look on her face, it didn’t go well at all. Everyone’s hearts plummeted when Hoshi shook her head sadly.

“Not good. I think he’s a little annoyed at me now.” She said unhappily. Riku chewed his lip.

“Ikun’s playing the bass, right? He should be initiating phase two soon.”

Right on cue, the air was filled with the beginning notes of a popular love song about finding romance between fellow sailors.

_“Tis lonely on a ship with my fellow sailors,_

_Brave and true as can be,_

_But ne’er has the passion of love_

_Been in closer quarters than here,_

_Whisper sweet nothings across the hall and the deck,_

_To carry me over the froth of the waves,”_

Neju belted out the lyrics along with Ikun’s impassioned strumming, eyeing Zhao in his periphery. The admiral remained impassive, arms folded across his chest in boredom. Newbie was leaning against the wall, casual as you please.

“He’s not doing anything.” Syako scowled. Engineer Jaozi frowned and gathered his courage when saw Zhao’s face didn’t so much as twitch throughout the entire song.

“I’ll go,” he offered.

“May Agni bless you,” Ming said solemnly. Jaozi nodded at his comrades and braced himself as he cautiously made his way to Zhao.

“The crew were wondering if you would like a turn at singing, sir.” Jaozi asked demurely, fighting to keep from fidgeting when Zhao aimed him with a _glare_ that heavily implied he’d light him on fire with his eyes alone if it were possible.

“I wouldn’t need permission even if I wanted to.” Zhao sneered. Jaozi swallowed. Perhaps if Newbie saw the object of his affection’s singing talents, he’d be inclined to make the first move instead? He’d have to hint at it then, not make it too obvious.

“It’s a shame, sir. You have a lovely voice.”

That was the wrong thing to say, Jaozi realized belatedly. The glare turned icy and Zhao’s expression frosted over.

“And how would you know?” He asked softly, dangerously, as silky smooth as downing poisoned whiskey.

_Because one time I caught you tinkering in the engine room and you were singing a sailor ballad when you thought nobody was around and you have a surprisingly nice singing voice considering all the yelling you do and please don’t kill me –_

“You deliver your speeches with such riveting passion and power it reinvigorates our loyalty and desire to serve the Fire Nation without fail.” Jaozi blathered, fervently praying Zhao was not about to smite him into a pile of ash on the spot.

Zhao narrowed his eyes at him. Jaozi could practically feel the beads of sweat clinging to his hairline for dear life.

_Does he know? He can’t know. It’s impossible, I backed out right after so he wouldn’t catch me. Dear Agni, I was only trying to help him, I swear –_

“I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?” Zhao gritted out from between clenched teeth. The unspoken, _‘if you want to keep breathing, you will leave immediately and pretend nothing happened’_ hung heavy in the air.

“Of course, sir.” Jaozi squeaked, before bowing and not _running_ per se, but _briskly_ walking away.

Riku grabbed onto Jaozi’s arm as he passed them when he rounded the corner.

“How did it go?” He demanded. Jaozi shook his head.

“I’m not going back out there. Time to pass the mantle onto somebody else.” He shrugged out of his grip and headed down the hallway towards the mess hall to join the separate party.

“We’re not sending Ming out there,” Riku sighed, “he’ll make everything worse.”

“Hey!” Ming scowled, affronted.

“We need tact,” Naku insisted, “your plan was to sling as many innuendoes and pick-up lines as possible at him.”

“It could work.” Ming pouted.

“Not before he trusses you up for us to use as target practice for firebending drills tomorrow.” Riku retorted dryly. “I think whatever Jaozi did, it really pissed off Zhao. We’ll try one last time. Any volunteers besides Ming? Preferably someone with tact? Bonus if you’re someone important enough that Zhao will think for a minute before he decides to set you on fire.”

Everyone glanced around nervously. Head Medic Sato sighed.

“I guess I’ll go. He wouldn’t drown the head doctor in full view of everyone, I don’t think.” Sato joked glumly. Everyone attempted to smile, but it came out as a collective grimace more than anything. Sato shook his head and marched confidently over with even strides.

“How are you doing, sir?”

“Head Medic Sato. I wasn’t aware you conducted check-ups during…” Zhao’s lip curled in disgust, “This.” He gestured to a group of sailors that had volunteered to play the next piece despite none of them having ever touched an instrument before. It was a horrendous, grating cacophony that inexplicably had the rest of the crew howling with laughter.

“I don’t need to be on duty to talk to you, sir.” Sato informed him placidly.

“Maybe duty did call for you after all, you could do something about my bleeding ears.” Zhao said sourly, wincing when the tsungi horn player became a little too overzealous about hitting the high notes.

“Very funny, sir.” Sato chuckled lightly, “If it bothers you that much, perhaps you’d like to take reprieve alone for a few moments.” He nodded at Zuko, “Take a little company, it could certainly help brighten you up a bit.”

“I don’t think this constitutes as medical advice so much as it does common sense.” Zhao said dryly.

“Regardless, it is sound advice.” Sato intoned blandly.

“I doubt you came up to me just to tell me something I already know. Why are you really here?” Zhao eyed him suspiciously, the tiniest hints of a snarl already curling at the corners of his mouth.

Sato floundered for a moment, an event of rare occurrence. “You simply looked a little tired, sir. I was concerned.”

“I’m fine. Actually, Medic Sato, I suggest you take the opportunity to enjoy the night. Spirits knows how many soldiers will be visiting your infirmary tomorrow for hangover remedies.” The familiar fox-cat smile spread across Zhao’s face.

“Sir?” Sato swallowed apprehensively.

“Oh, you didn’t know? I thought I may as well offer a little treat to the crew tonight, and it’s been well-received. I spotted a few of the men hauling out some of the beer crates from the cargo hold earlier.” Zhao casually checked his nails, like how a fox-cat would inspect their claws before shredding someone’s face off.

But Sato was too distracted to notice, instead muttering a curse under his breath.

“Apologies, sir, if you’ll excuse me for my abrupt departure. I think I need to take stock of our inventory.” He bowed stiffly.

The grin that appeared on Zhao’s face could only be described as feral.

“Of course,” he agreed in velvety tones, “hurry along now. If you’re quick, you may be able to make it back in time for a drink yourself.”

Sato rushed in the direction of the infirmary, harried and grumbling all the way.

“What happened?” Hoshi asked, concerned as Sato stormed past them.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me there was going to be alcohol?” He mithered, glaring at them in accusation before he disappeared through the doorway. None of them went after him, already sensing his foul mood from miles away.

“What now?” Riku slumped in defeat. The others sighed, bowing their heads in discouragement, at a loss for ideas.

“I could –” Ming began.

“ _No_.”

* * *

“And how are you both finding music night?” Iroh smiled cheerily, coming up to them with a platter of custard tarts and proffering them.

“Exhausting.” Zhao replied flatly, swiping a tart and inspecting it critically.

Iroh laughed, “Admiral Zhao, the tart doesn’t need a uniform check! You should relax, one cannot have fun standing in one spot the whole night.”

“Hmph.” Zhao near eviscerated the tart. Iroh chuckled and shook his head indulgently, turning his attention onto Zuko next.

“Are you enjoying music night so far, my boy?”

“It’s okay.” The prince mumbled half-heartedly.

“Having fun?”

Zuko shrugged. Iroh frowned, tilting the platter closer to the prince.

“Perhaps you’d like a tart?”

“No thanks, Uncle.” Zuko muttered, barely audible. “I’m not hungry right now.”

His uncle’s brow furrowed in concern. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Uncle.” Said in the most pathetic, despondent tone Zhao had ever heard from the prince.

He stiffened. It was as he feared. Zuko wasn’t yet done moping and while he really didn’t give a single fuck that he wasn’t done throwing his tantrum, Iroh would be sure to notice if anything was amiss. He couldn’t afford the old general catching on to the fact that he was the one to upset his beloved nephew.

He mentally swore. Zhao didn’t want to resort to this particular contingency, the one where he’d have to suck up his pride and apologize. The idea of it panged his proud heart, but he needed the prince to return to normalcy in order to prevent rousing suspicion. He released a breath thinly through his teeth and calmed himself. It wasn’t genuine anyway, no need to fester over this.

“It’s been a long day,” Zhao cut in smoothly. “Apologies General Iroh, if you would excuse us for just a moment. We’re going to make the rounds over the rest of the ship to check things haven’t gotten too rowdy.”

“Oh, of course. I hear the mess hall has already begun breaking out the alcohol. Ah, young people. The night’s barely started and they already want to introduce drinking into the mix.” Iroh chortled.

“I must attend to that immediately then,” Zhao smiled slickly, “it wouldn’t do if half my men were hungover tomorrow morning. Thank you for the heads up, General.”

He headed for the corridor leading to the mess hall, beckoning Zuko to follow him. As soon as they were out of sight and earshot of Iroh, he dragged the prince by the wrist into one of the vacant rooms lining the hallway and locked it behind them.

“What are you doing?” Zuko hissed, tearing his wrist out of Zhao’s hold.

“I need to talk to you.”

“About what? Can’t this wait?”

“No, I want to do this now.”

Zuko said nothing in response, but crossed his arms over his chest warily. They stared at each other for a moment, and the muffled sounds of cheering and laughter outside could be faintly heard through the walls. Out the window, the other ships of the fleet were in sight, also in the full throes of their own music night.

And here they were, in the all-encompassing bubble of darkness, made all the more suffocating by the tension between them. Zhao straightened, folding his hands behind his back. He opened his mouth, a command already perched on the tip of his tongue: _‘take off your helmet’_.

He stopped. Closed his mouth. No, this had to be done with care. The set-up needed to be perfect. No demands, pushing, cajoling. If the prince was to be softened up and persuaded to come back to his side, he needed to let go of his clutch on control, abolish their current hierarchy and let him believe they were standing on equal ground.

“Will you take off your helmet?”

He softened his voice, reeling in the urge to jeer and provoke. Allowed the faint traces of vulnerability to creep in.

“Why?”

_So that my apology will look more genuine if I can see into your eyes._

“I’d like to see your face. It’s rather disconcerting trying to talk to a skull.”

He relaxed his brows and lowered them ever so slightly, keeping his face neutral. Add a tint of humour in his voice, just a little. Make it seem like he was trying to make light of the situation despite the discomfort they were both no doubt experiencing. He made sure he was standing behind the moonlight, the shadows stretching over the top half of his face so the prince couldn’t see the emptiness in his eyes.

Zuko said nothing. Did nothing. His arms lax at his side, making no move to remove his helmet.

“Come on, your face isn’t possibly more hideous than the faceplate.” Zhao coaxed. The prince still refused to respond and remained as still and stony as a statue.

Zhao sighed, unfolding his arms and reaching up cautiously, slowly, like he would for an animal baring its teeth at him. He stopped when his hands grasped the sides of the helmet, watching for any signs of agitation from Zuko.

Still nothing.

Zhao carefully pulled the helmet off and set it aside before taking a moment to study Zuko’s face, as if searching for something. It was a rare thing for the prince to stay still long enough for Zhao to discretely catalogue his features.

The first thing Zhao noticed was that the prince’s hair was growing back. A fuzzy black layer that covered his head, definitely a vast improvement from the mostly bald head he was sporting before. The typical pale skin almost everyone in the Fire Nation had. High cheekbones, delicate features rounded in some places from faint traces of stubbornly clinging baby fat. Molten gold eyes framed by thick lashes seemed to almost glow in the darkness of the room. He obviously resembled Ozai, sure, but it was gentled by the late Princess Ursa’s features.

If he was pretty now, there’d be no doubt he would grow into his looks to become something remarkable. The marks of royalty were certainly there, something not even the scar marring most of the left side of his face could ever detract.

“Look,” Zhao murmured, placing his hands on Zuko’s shoulders gently and boring his stare into those golden eyes, before he dropped his gaze to the ground. Downcast eyes, a sign of repentance. Droop the shoulders, signalling humility and exhaustion. Draw the eyebrows closer together to show he’d been considering his apology carefully. Should he scuffle his foot? No, he still needed to retain enough pride to be believable.

“I want to apologize for our… altercation earlier. I shouldn’t have said that about your uncle. It… wasn’t my place.”

A flash of surprise flitted over Zuko’s face.

“You didn’t get it either.” He muttered. Zhao allowed himself to meet the prince’s eyes again.

“I didn’t get it either.” Zhao agreed, placing a hand over his chest, the cool of his armour just as strikingly cold as his disposition. “And I’m sorry. For butting into something I don’t understand, I mean. I know I don’t really have much tact surrounding these sorts of… matters, but I should’ve had the sense to stop when you were obviously uncomfortable.”

Zuko’s eyes widened in disbelief but seemed to be mulling it over all the same.

“Really?” He asked dubiously.

“Of course,” Zhao assured him sincerely, never breaking eye contact. “It’s hard to remember how much people close to you mean when you’ve only had the company of the ocean and subordinates for months on end. It’s easy to forget yourself. You understand, don’t you?”

“I’ve lashed out at Uncle like that before,” Zuko confessed shamefully. Zhao hid a triumphant smile behind a sympathetic purse of his lips.

“Exactly. It still doesn’t excuse what I said obviously, but…”

Sigh repentantly, dip his head in regret, gnaw on his lip for exactly two moments, as if he were pondering his next words.

“But…”

_Go in for the kill._

“I hope we can move on from this. If you’re willing.”

He looked up as he said his piece, holding the prince’s golden eyes in his own, letting the shadows flickering over his face mask his false sincerity. He held still, unsure if he’d succeeded or not in earning Zuko’s forgiveness.

A burst of laughter suddenly left the prince, taking Zhao by surprise.

“What?” He asked apprehensively. Zuko smiled and shook his head. The quirk of his lips was a tiny, but genuine thing, and somehow it relieved all the tension strung up in his shoulders at once.

“No, nothing. It’s just… you apologized for insulting my uncle, but you still haven’t apologized for blowing me up.”

His confusion was quickly overwhelmed with a pang of relief too fast for him to squash down and despite his best efforts, Zhao couldn’t help cracking a tentative smile.

“I had a feeling me saying all that about your uncle hurt more than getting blown up.” Zhao subtly probed.

The faint smile on Zuko’s face diminished marginally, and a faraway look clouded over his eyes.

“Yeah, it kind of did.” He replied quietly. Zhao blinked in surprise, not expecting that admittance. The prince seemed to have trusted his apology, and even more baffling, was willing to divulge in such truths despite still holding on to his animosity mere moments ago.

It was only then did Zhao realize he still had one hand on Zuko’s shoulder. He removed his grip, coughed awkwardly and turned his gaze to somewhere else in the room.

A troubling thought then occurred to him that despite his initial reluctance to apologize, even if it was for the sake of getting Iroh off his back, he did feel lighter for it. The thing was, he wasn’t sure if it was due to his feelings of victory for getting the prince to buy his performance, or if it was genuine relief. He silently reeled at that and quashed down the niggling sensation of guilt attached to his insincerity.

_‘But why should I feel guilty? It wasn’t like I really did feel bad for speaking the truth.’_

“Can I ask?” Zuko straightened, catching his attention. He paused, looking like he was debating something. “… Why were you so mad that Uncle wasn’t helping me more?”

“I guess I wanted to understand why you weren’t angrier at your circumstances.” Zhao replied, quietly marvelling at the truth of his statement. “I’m just saying, if my father had burned me like that… I would be a lot more unhinged than you are right now. I would’ve sought vengeance, and fought tooth and nail for it.”

“I’m not like you.”

“No,” Zhao murmured back, levelling a considering look at him, “you’re not.”

Zuko tilted his head in confusion. “You’re not saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

Zuko relaxed, the awkwardness of the room seeming to melt at the same time. He basked in their moment of reconciliation, hardly able to believe that Zhao had actually apologized. It didn’t mean he was completely forgiven, though. No, the hurt was there, dulled, but still present. As if reading his thoughts, Zhao asked:

“Are you still mad at me?”

“A part of me still is.” Zuko admitted honestly.

Not completely in the clear then. Zhao didn’t feel that there was a further need to make it up to the little brat, but he did require Zuko to be in at least a good enough mood to divert Iroh’s attention. And he had an inkling of something the prince might appreciate.

“I’ll take you to see the komodo rhinos tomorrow, if you’d like.” Zhao offered. Zuko perked up at that, obviously trying to school in his eagerness. But then a suspicious look fell over his face.

“Are you just trying to smooth things over?” Zuko asked, exasperated.

“Is it working?”

Zuko was tempted to stew and let Zhao sit for a couple minutes, just as a form of petty revenge. But he also wasn’t sure if that would tempt the other man into revoking his offer. Best not test his patience. It was already a miracle the admiral had apologized.

“Yeah, alright.” Zuko grinned back, abandoning his annoyed pretence. “But I get to spend as long as I want with them. And I get to take fruit down to them as well.”

“Only if you rejoin music night with me.” Zhao bargained. Zuko rolled his eyes even though his heart wasn’t fully in it.

“Deal.”

Zhao took a large step back and opened the door, gesturing for Zuko to leave first. In the light of the moon and the familiar smarmy smile on Zhao’s face, it was eerily reminiscent of the atmosphere surrounding their first bargain struck on this ship. Zuko let the moment wash over him as he stepped back out into the hallway.

It was different this time. This time Zuko left with a sense of peace instead of trepidation.

* * *

Music night was still in full swing when they made their reappearance on the main deck. They had managed to make it back in time to see Iroh take a bow in response to a round of raucous applause and hand off the tsungi horn, evidently having just finished performing.

He lit up as soon as he spotted them and made a beeline towards them, casually nabbing what looked like mochi from a passing soldier’s plate.

“Was the mess hall more entertaining than the main deck?” Iroh asked bemusedly, as he ambled up to them. “You’ve got a spring in your step, Nephew.”

“Ah, yeah, sort of.” Zuko replied. “I take it you’re having fun, Uncle?”

Iroh beamed exuberantly. “The more the merrier, Nephew. As much as I cherished our old crew, there is an energy that cannot be matched when you are celebrating the beauty of music with so many people.” He gestured widely to the large groups of people congregated all over the deck. “I must thank you again, Admiral Zhao, for indulging in an old man’s request.”

“The pleasure is all mine, General Iroh.” Zhao intoned smoothly, “You were right, after all. It is imperial to upkeep the spirit of the crew.”

“I’m so glad you think so,” Iroh smiled. “But what really touches my heart is how you both seem to finally be in lighter spirits.”

Zhao shrugged. “Festivity can be infectious. I’m not entirely impervious to a good mood.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Zuko muttered at the same time Iroh asked with twinkling eyes, “Good enough to regale us with a song, Admiral?”

Zhao rejected him in an instant. “I don’t play.”

“You could always sing.” Iroh said amenably.

“I don’t sing.”

“That’s not what that crewmember from earlier said,” Zuko sniggered. Dread curled up in Zhao’s gut when Iroh whipped his head around to pin him with a delighted albeit flabbergasted look.

“Why Zhao, I had no idea you were partial to singing!”

“I’m not!” Zhao snapped, “I just had a few lessons in vocal training when I attained captaincy.”

“While it is recommended for commanding officers to regularly practice their public speaking, it’s not required to undergo vocal training.” Iroh pointed out.

“Admiral Shu insisted.” Zhao replied defensively. “I couldn’t turn it down when he’d already paid for a vocal coach.”

“Well then tonight would be an excellent opportunity to put those lessons to good use,” Iroh persuaded, “the crew has been such good sports about participating. Why, if even the new recruits volunteered to play a song or two, the admiral himself should feel obligated to join in.”

Zhao groaned while Zuko snickered next to him, not bothering to conceal his vindictive glee. At the moment, a popular sailor’s love song was currently being played, sang with great gusto by one of the senior captains. Although, Zhao thought wryly, he’d noticed that the majority of the songs played tonight were composed of a suspiciously large number of romantic songs.

_“Lonely sailors on the sea, from the brinks of frosty corners of old,_

_With nothing more to warm the heart, than the memory of a kiss untold,_

_Wait for me at port, where I will meet you with my worn hands unfurled,”_

Well… if it would get Iroh to go away… he supposed it would be a small sacrifice. Iroh was nothing but unforgivingly pestering when he wanted to be, after all.

“‘ _And hold you in my arms, my love, safely tucked away from the world…’_ ” Zhao crooned the next line. “There. Does that appease you, General?” 

It was honestly rather disturbing how Iroh was looking up at him as if he had hung the stars in the sky. Really, there was no need for him to get into such a tizzy; he’d only sang one line. _One_ line. This was the man that had led countless expeditions and campaigns in the name of the Fire Nation, each time returning to his home with more blood on his hands, and forever garnering more reputation across the world. This man has seen things most people could never even dream of imagining; surely one measly titbit of singing wasn’t all that impressive and – were those tears springing up in his eyes?

“Uncle…?” Zuko asked cautiously, snapping out of his own stupor. Uncle sniffled and sent a watery smile towards Zhao.

“Zhao, you have a most wonderful singing voice. If I had known, I would have made a better effort in convincing you to stay for music nights on the _Wani_.”

The admiral wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No thanks, I draw the line there.” 

Iroh belted out a laugh. “Ah, that’s a pity to hear. Thank you for indulging me, it was very smooth and soothing. I bet you could put any babe to sleep with that voice of yours.”

He patted Zhao’s shoulder before moving off, attracted by the scent of freshly brewed tea the steward had just brought up. Zuko peered at Zhao, who looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“It’s alright,” Zuko assured him awkwardly, “the first time I agreed to join music night, he bawled for half an hour.”

Zhao shook his head. “At least he didn’t ask me to play the tsungi horn.”

“On the contrary, you realize he’s going to ask you to sing for every music night until the end of time, right?”

Zhao prided himself in his composure and ability to keep his cool under most circumstances. But he was also just a man. And sometimes, when the circumstances allowed it, he deserved to give in to his primal instincts. This was one of those times.

“ _Fuck_.”

* * *

When Zhao looked increasingly irritated as the night progressed, they thought for sure they’d failed. Nobody had any ideas on how to salvage the situation, and they weren’t desperate enough to send out Ming.

Then an unexpected saviour arrived. They watched as General Iroh strolled up to the admiral and Newbie with what looked like a platter of custard tarts they were sure he filched from the kitchens because the last time Riku checked, they were still in the ovens ten minutes ago – 

No matter. Zhao was picking at his tart like he did scouting people for weaknesses and Newbie seemed rather sullen with his slouched, almost defeated posture.

Naku privately wondered how Zhao miraculously managed to keep crumbs from smearing into those atrociously large sideburns of his.

They were too far away to eavesdrop on their obviously private conversation and they were too scared to send someone closer when Zhao was still devouring his tart with predatory precision, but whatever General Iroh was saying was not cheering Newbie up at all. 

And then Zhao went rigid.

The admiral relaxed again and said a few things to Iroh, an apologetic look plastered on his face as he made to excuse himself and Newbie. With a beckoning gesture to Newbie, they disappeared into one of the open doorways of the ship, swallowed up by the darkness.

“What did General Iroh _say_ to him?” Syako hissed, eyes still trying to follow them into the darkened hallway.

“I don’t know, but that was weird.” Naku muttered back, his lips twisted in a confused frown.

“Should someone follow them?”

“No,” Naku said with finality, “we won’t risk anything if we don’t have to. Stand by for now.”

The anxiety of the wait would have been all-consuming if not for General Iroh’s intervention yet again. The retired general had bumbled over to the middle of the circle on the deck and relieved the tsungi horn player of her instrument, cheerfully declaring that he would be honoured if everyone joined him in a riveting rendition of _‘Four Seasons’_.

They had ran through the song three times over and a few other generic sailor’s shanties before Zhao and Newbie made a reappearance.

“Oh my spirits…” Hoshi gasped breathily, not so subtly pointing at the couple. “Look at Zhao’s _smile_!”

Everyone’s heads turned so fast they almost got whiplash. Naku would be more concerned about how noticeable this entire group was if not for the fact that Hoshi was right and _holy shit Zhao had a semi-happy smile spread across his sideburned face_.

They couldn’t discern if the smile reached his eyes, but it was by far the most genuine smile they had ever seen from him. Even if it was still half-smarmy. Newbie too had a bounce in his step as they made their way back to the little corner they had claimed since the night started.

Naku was not ashamed to admit they all let out a collective squeal of delight at the sight. A massive burden immediately lifted off their shoulders. They were so sure they had failed. So sure Zhao was never going to make a move out of spite. So sure they scared Newbie away from ever being receptive to the admiral’s affections.

“They were gone for a while,” Ming remarked, grinning suggestively. “Wonder what they were up to?”

“Making out,” Syako nodded with certainty. “Definitely making out.”

Ming squinted. “You sure about that? His mouth doesn’t look red or anything.”

“ _Stop staring._ ” Naku hissed, tugging at Ming’s sleeve.

“It doesn’t matter what they were doing,” Riku smiled dopily, “I’m just glad we didn’t screw up. Shit, that was exhausting. Anyone else wanna go to the mess hall and get drunk off our asses?”

“Yeah,” Syako agreed, stretching her arms above her head. “After that ordeal? I could probably down a whole bottle of sake all by myself. Easy.”

They left with a sense of accomplishment, confident in knowing life on the _Barracuda_ was about to improve for the better. And to think that it was thanks to their meddling and tastefully cautious interventions.

“Hey, should we invite General Iroh to Gossip Night?”

“I don’t think we should push our luck any more than we already have.”

* * *

Music night had concluded late in the evening once even Iroh claimed he had finally gotten his fill. The crew had disbanded after clearing away all the lanterns and chairs without being prompted, Zhao had noted with a rare hint of pride. He and Zuko had retired to their shared quarters as soon as Zhao was satisfied with the clean-up and ensured his precious ship was given a good mopping (and, well, if they stuck around long enough to devour the last of the custard tarts, that was nobody’s business other than their own).

But now, without the multitude of people providing abundant background noise, the underlying unfamiliarity and tension that had never dissipated over the past few days came back with a vengeance. It was a stark contrast to their amiable moment from before on the deck. Although, to be fair, the entire interaction had been mediated by Iroh.

They avoided each other’s eyes as they prepared for bed; Zuko making his space on the floor again and Zhao shoving the boundary-pillow back into the closet where it belonged.

The admiral cleared his throat lightly, feeling the need to fill the silence. “So what did you think of music night?”

“It wasn’t terrible,” Zuko admitted. “I guess it was one of the more enjoyable ones I’ve attended.” He then smiled slyly. “You know, seeing how I managed to get an apology out of you.”

“Don’t expect it to be a regular occurrence. Although that does make me question the standard of your previous music nights if this one was among the more pleasant ones even if you spent half the time sulking.” Zhao retorted, giving him the barest slip of a smirk.

“And whose fault was that?” Zuko shot back.

“I already apologized, didn’t I?” Zhao chuckled. “I’m honestly quite impressed how far you’re willing to go in order to defend your uncle out of sentimentality.”

“Yeah, well, Uncle’s always been there for me.” Zuko twisted the corners of the pillow in his hands. It wasn’t often he took a step back to truly appreciate what his uncle did for him; something he wished to rectify but had no idea how to even approach the subject matter.

“Mm, so I’ve heard.”

Zuko paused his fingers’ ministrations on the pillow and looked up at the admiral, who was busying himself with loosening his bracers and chest plate. “About what you said before… back in the meeting room - I was doing some thinking.”

“Shocking.”

“Shut up.” Zuko snapped. “You were wrong about one thing - when you said Uncle never rebuilt himself like Ba Sing Se did.”

He met Zhao’s amber eyes, his own golden ones gleaming with fierce conviction.

“He did build himself back up. But Ba Sing Se rebuilt their walls in the exact same way it was before. Uncle may not be the same person he used to be, but he adapted. And I think he’s better than he ever was for it.”

Zhao stared in surprise, not expecting this level of insight from the prince. Whilst it wasn’t… transcendental, it was thought-provoking, he could admit that much. And maybe there were some vestiges of truth in that statement. He deliberated it over scrupulously. Iroh’s reputation preceded him even now; regardless of the tumble he’d taken since his military disgrace. It was easy to see him as a doddering uncle leashed to his nephew, but also just as easy to remember he was still a dragon at heart whenever he deigned to peel back his mouth and bare his fangs to reveal smouldering flame budding in his throat. Like switching between two completely different people. He’d fallen for the trick before himself. He couldn’t help wonder how many other people had been fooled as well.

Zhao was pulled out of his thoughts when he noticed the princeling peering at him from under his lashes while gnawing on his lip nervously.

“Hey,” Zuko stopped, hesitation and embarrassment warring within him when Zhao turned to look at him. “… Goodnight.”

He quickly turned on his side so his back was facing Zhao.

“… Goodnight.” Echoed the soft reply.

Safe from view, Zuko allowed a small smile to spread across his face. He found sleep came easy that night as he slipped into blissful oblivion within moments.

Meanwhile, Zhao was staring up at the ceiling contemplatively. It seemed the day had been full of surprises. He breathed deeply, casting his mind back to the difference an apology made to the prince. Any trace of the sullen, despairing teenager from this morning had evaporated almost at once.

It didn’t really help that to say his apology had no effect on himself was a lie. It was… troubling to say the least when his begrudging feelings had morphed into something… not entirely unpleasant. It wasn’t planned. This wasn’t part of his contingencies. And he didn’t know what to do about the fact.

But he couldn’t doubt he hadn’t felt the stirrings of genuine relief fluttering in his chest during the moment Zuko had forgiven him. And he had gone in knowing it wasn’t genuine. It wasn’t real. That he didn’t intend to mean any of it.

It didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t suddenly sympathize with the prince. Not when Zuko was defending an old coot who obviously limited his capabilities. Zhao’s hand clenched the sheets tightly in his grasp. He didn’t owe the brat anything. He didn’t. So why did it feel like a part of him might have felt guilty for lying, even if only for just one moment?

He exhaled sharply, staunchly resolving to lock away his moment of weakness. No-one had to know. It was just another secret added to the existing retinue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later in the infirmary,
> 
> Zhao: my heart was beating faster, I had a weird fluttering in my chest, my face was doing this weird thing where my mouth was pulling up at the corners involuntarily and I didn't have an urge to kill or maim someone -
> 
> Sato: those are called feelings, sir
> 
> Zhao: ???


	7. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Zhao attempt to smooth things over, but hints of Zhao's past are beginning to stir up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm at like 70k words and they haven't even had their first kiss yet. Does this count as a slow burn? Medium burn? Long simmer? Someone pls tell me.

Their footsteps clacked against the metal flooring as they headed down to the deepest parts of the ship. Zuko had stuffed as much fruit in his pockets as possible and when he ran out of space, demanded to shove some into Zhao’s pockets as well.

He’d staunchly refused of course, but when it became evident that Zuko was not going to take no for an answer (by slipping apple slices down his neck when he wasn’t looking, which, _how_ , because Zhao had at least a head of height over Zuko), he’d reluctantly relented and filled his deeper pockets with a few moon peaches and mandarins.

When Zuko said he wanted to bring fruit down to the hold, he didn’t think he meant more than the usual fruit bowl that was brought to breakfast every morning. And wasn’t that something to explain to the head cook when they inevitably went to the galley to gather more fruit.

But now they were in the stables where a multitude of stalls lined the sides of the entire room, holding a modest number of komodo rhinos. They were huge animals, boasting long, wickedly sharp horns and thick, scale-plated skin. Long, muscular tails whipped behind them as they surveyed the newcomers with sharp, yellow eyes. A lot of maintenance and care had to go into taking care of these animals, especially out on sea. Luckily, they were surprisingly adaptable even though they were land animals through and through.

No matter the case, Zhao was relieved they managed to make it down after the daily mucking and clean-up. He was already reluctant to be here in the first place and most certainly did not want to deal with any unsavoury smells on top of it all.

The first rhino they stopped at was one of the older ones of the group. Zuko let out a small coo and slipped an apple from his sleeve, allowing the animal to take it from his hand. The prince whispered hushed words of praise as he gave chin and neck scratches while the rhino munched contentedly on his treat. Zhao hung back a little distance away, not willing to risk getting any drool over his person.

They proceeded like this down the entire line, with Zhao wordlessly handing Zuko pieces of fruit once he had divested his pockets of all the food he’d been carrying on his person. It was the same methodical approach: croon to the animal, feed them a piece of fruit (or two if they’re particularly sweet-tempered), offer them scritches along all the good spots, and give them one final pat along the neck. Rinse and repeat.

That is, until they reached the end of the line-up.

Zuko let out a delighted cry of surprise and flung his arms around the rhino’s neck, which snuffled and huffed in obvious mirrored joy, clearly just as happy to see Zuko as he was to see her.

“And who is this?” Zhao asked, grimacing as he tried to put some distance between him and the slobbering animal.

“Her name is Peach,” Zuko smiled, scratching the komodo rhino under the chin fondly. The animal snorted and tossed her head, giving him easier access.

“Peach.” Zhao repeated flatly.

“Her favourite treats are peaches.” Zuko offered, as if that explained anything. He ran his other hand over her curved horn, careful to avoid the sharp point. “She was the youngest of the rhinos on my old ship; something we had in common.”

“And I suppose that was the bonding point for you two.”

“She never really liked anyone else,” Zuko grinned, “so Lieutenant Jee made me ride her since she hated it when someone from the rest of the crew tried to saddle her.”

“You know, if a rhino shows that kind of favouritism, they’re usually culled.” Zhao said casually. “Makes no sense to keep an animal that only lets one specific person ride it.”

Zuko startled, turning horrified eyes at Zhao. “Absolutely not. You are not killing Peach.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Zhao drawled, “ _I’m_ not killing her.”

“She’s gotten a lot better!” Zuko protested, “She lets Uncle ride her, and sometimes Lieutenant Jee, and… and the helmsman too!”

Zhao snickered, amused by the prince’s adamant defence of an animal. “I’m just kidding. The keeper has already informed me that all the rhinos taken from your ship are viable to be ridden. Even this one,” he nodded at Peach.

“That wasn’t funny.” Zuko scowled, shooting him a dirty look while obviously pushing down his relief.

“It was to me.” Zhao smirked back.

“Wait,” The prince suddenly realized, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “Why do you have Peach here in the first place?”

“You only just noticed this now?” Zhao laughed incredulously. “I told you back on your old ship, I was taking your whole crew.”

“When Uncle said you took everyone from my crew, I didn’t think that also meant the komodo rhinos.” Zuko said, honestly rather dumbfounded.

Zhao shrugged. “They were on your ship and they were breathing. I constituted that as part of your crew.”

“You are such a petty asshole.”

Zhao whistled jauntily in response, smugly making it a point to avoid eye contact. Zuko huffed, wanting to make another jab, but stopped himself. He wasn’t looking to stir up more trouble with the admiral. No, not when they had just gotten over an argument yesterday. Instead, he decided to change the subject.

“You haven’t patted a single rhino since we came here.”

“I don’t tend to interact with them outside of riding them.” Zhao furrowed his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware cuddling them was in the job description when I got promoted.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “It’s just for fun. Although, you probably don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“ _‘Fun’_ to me right now would involve your murder if you keep annoying me.”

“I’m entitled to annoying you. You tried to kill me, and this is part of your apology for yesterday.”

Ah, yes. The entire reason why he had lowered himself to be standing in the stables right now. No time to ponder about that though, Zuko had just shoved a moon peach into his hands.

“And what do you expect me to do with this?” He asked, befuddled.

“Feed her,” Zuko shrugged, as if this were a regular occurrence. “She doesn’t usually like people, but she’ll never say no to a peach. Just come at her slowly, give her space and only let your arm get close.”

The prince obviously wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Zhao sighed; best get this over with. He’d been itching to make his rounds in the engine room today and the more cooperative he was, the faster they could move on to better things.

He stared the beast in her yellow eyes which were cautious, wary. Good, as she should be. He wasn’t a soft-hearted animal lover like a certain someone.

Zhao extended his hand matter-of-factly, offering up the moon peach. Peach obviously had no qualms who was handing her food, as she delicately (for a great, lumbering beast) nipped it out of his hand and chewed enthusiastically. The admiral snatched his hand back before she decided she wanted a different type of snack.

“There,” he huffed, carefully inspecting his hand for any drool that could’ve landed on him during the entire interaction. “The beast is fed. Are you satisfied now?”

“Very.” Zuko laughed, amused at how quickly the other man had retracted his hand with a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face. “You know, maybe we could’ve gotten along this whole time.”

He wasn’t sure what prompted him to say that. Maybe it was the last lingering traces of his good mood from last night, or maybe it was the increasingly comfortable daily routines he had now adopted with Zhao, or maybe it was simply being in the presence of the komodo rhinos, a place of comfort he had sought long ago when he felt alone and confused and not even Uncle could fill the gaping hole in his heart. Animals never judged you so long as you treated them well, after all.

But to Zhao, hearing that sent a distinct prickle of discomfort up his spine. Indulging in his uncle’s whims, somewhat enjoying Zuko’s company at times, offering small kindnesses that were insignificant, but kindness _all the same_ – he dreaded to think about it, but one fear reared its ugly head, stark and plain in light of his thoughts and disturbing feelings from last night: he was growing the slightest bit attached to the prince. A weakness that could not, _should not_ , be tolerated.

It had been fun antagonizing Zuko back when their paths crossed by chance or at port, but he never anticipated spending prolonged time together could lead to anything more than barely tolerable interactions.

“We’re not here to make friends,” Zhao informed him coldly, fighting down his inner panic. “Our alliance still takes precedence above all else.”

“I didn’t say we had to be friends,” Zuko argued back. “I just meant that we didn’t have to be enemies.”

Oh.

Well, that was alright then. He could… he could work with this. One didn’t form alliances without sacrificing a few kindnesses for nothing in return, right? Zhao relaxed. Of course. Of course he’d never let the end goal stray from his sights. He’d been paranoid, he could admit that. It had just been difficult to associate the prince as an ally when he’d always seen him as a snivelling, pathetic brat.

There was no difference between the favours he’d granted these past few days to the goodwill he’d offered to his other allies.

“Right. I suppose the circumstances under which we met before weren’t entirely… the most favourable for cultivating a good working relationship.”

Said with such impassivity. Zuko distantly wondered if this was what the Avatar had felt, back in the forest after escaping the clutches of the very man standing before him. He hadn’t thought twice about blasting a flame at the younger boy, but now he couldn’t help pondering if the Avatar had felt the same strange mix of confusion, wariness and cautious hope.

_“If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends too?”_

“Sorry,” Zuko was jolted out of his thoughts at the abrupt apology, “I did not intend to drag the mood back down when the whole point of this was to make up for yesterday’s stint.”

“It’s fine, really.” Zuko muttered. “I was just lost in my thoughts.”

A curious glance was levelled on him, but no demand or prodding to expand came. Zuko took advantage of this to avoid any potential requests to elaborate, resuming his ministrations over Peach’s snout. She wuffed at him, sniffing at his hands for any treats still concealed on him.

“Sorry, girl, that was all I had.” She butted her head gently against his fingers anyway and lidded her eyes in pleasure when Zuko scratched at her grey-scaled skin.

“What about them appeals to you so much?” Zhao asked, cautiously touching part of her horn. “They’re not exactly the first animal that comes to mind when you think of pets.”

“It’s not just komodo rhinos,” Zuko replied, digging his fingers a little harder into that special spot under her chin. “Animals don’t judge you for who you are… or what you did, so long as you treat them right.”

“Hmph,” Zhao grunted, eyeing up Peach disdainfully. “If you’re sure.”

Zuko didn’t respond, only giving Peach a few final pats before stepping away from her stall. Zhao uncrossed his arms and began heading out, eager to get out of the company of all these beasts.

“Alright, so we’ve seen the komodo rhinos, what’s next on the agenda?” Zuko asked as they turned into a corridor he’d never walked through before.

“The engine room.”

“What for?” The prince questioned, confused. Wasn’t that outside the realm of admiral responsibilities?

“Just an overall check-up.”

“Don’t you have engineers for that?”

“I like to check things over myself,” Zhao shrugged, “I’ve told you, I grew up around ships. It’s a force of habit to make my rounds and ensure everything is running smoothly.”

Zuko frowned, pretty sure that it was more because Zhao had a thing against letting others do their jobs. It wasn’t his place to argue, though. If Zhao wanted to heap more responsibilities on his shoulders than strictly required, then that was all on him.

The engine room encompassed a wide network spanning across the deepest floors of the ship. Fitting, considering the sheer enormity of the _Barracuda_. Zuko spotted the occasional engineer flitting between the criss-crossing labyrinth of pipes, checking gauges, working the ventilation machinery, and shovelling coal into the furnaces.

“Admiral Zhao,” a passing engineer bowed deeply. “Is there anything we can do for you?”

Zhao waved him off. “At ease, crewman. Just making my rounds; back to your station.”

The engineer bowed again before scurrying off to another part of the room. Zhao turned his attention towards perusing the machinery laid out before them, peering at the many components and humming his satisfaction as he moved on.

Zuko trailed after him, still mystified by Zhao’s apparent enjoyment in looking over every inch of the equipment but was content to stand by and watch silently. That is, until Zhao stopped in front of one of the machines and somehow produced a screwdriver out of nowhere. “Why are you so interested in these?”

“My father would disassemble the parts and make me reassemble them under a time limit. It was a challenge, but I relished being able to hone my abilities and show up people in the academy who grew a bit too overconfident with their repair work.” Zhao explained, getting to work at removing the panel of the machine they stopped at. “It was fun – well, if you ignore the fact I’d get punished for taking too long or not assembling it correctly.”

“How did your father punish you if you couldn’t get it right?”

“Nothing more than a smack on the hand and drilling over the same blueprint until I had it down cold, usually.”

“That’s it?” Zuko asked disbelievingly. Zhao frowned in confusion.

“Well, yes. It was more of a hobby than anything, it wasn’t like it warranted severe punishment such as –” realization dawned on Zhao. He’d heard passing rumours from the palace years ago, of a prince with mysterious burns dotting his arms after firebending practice, of finger-shaped bruises encircling his wrists, of the barest limp whenever he appeared in public.

He couldn’t risk bringing in those memories for the prince. They’d only just managed a fragile reconciliation last night. If he pushed the matter… well, he was not in the mood to apologize a second time.

“Ahem, such as you’d expect if you messed up during the real thing.” He covered up smoothly.

“Huh, alright.”

Relief flooded Zhao when his answer seemed to placate the prince. Crisis averted, he got back to inspecting the gears of the machine.

“What’s so interesting about a bunch of gears?” Zuko asked, moving in closer to see what Zhao was doing.

“I’m looking at the thickness of the gear teeth. If you want everything to keep running smoothly, you need to keep an eye out for any gears that may need replacing.”

It was awfully boring for Zuko, watching the admiral inspect every single gear in the machine before he was apparently satisfied and replaced the panel with quick turns of the screwdriver. He’d hoped that was the end of it, but his chronic bad luck reared its head again. Zhao had moved on to another machine sitting in the corner, again removing the panelling and inspecting the system of pumps and turbines within.

“It’s the most recent model of its line,” Zhao proclaimed proudly. “I had the honour of meeting the engineer who designed it a few months ago to look over the schematics.”

“You can build these?” Zuko asked incredulously.

“No,” Zhao admitted. “I don’t know enough about the fine details that go behind its design and inner workings in order to create them. Never had the opportunity to dedicate serious time and effort into learning. The most I can do is disassemble and reassemble them. And carry out basic repair work in a pinch.”

“Why can’t you just leave it up to the engineers to do their jobs then?”

To Zuko’s amazement, the slightest hint of a flush crept up Zhao’s neck. The man mumbled something indiscernible as he reached out a finger to tap a couple gauges.

“What was that?”

“I said it’s equivalent to me what Dragons in Love is to you.” Zhao glowered reluctantly.

“ _Love Amongst the Dragons_. And for real? This isn’t you trying to pull one over me again, is it?” Zuko asked suspiciously.

“ _No_. I just happen to like spending my time in the engine room, alright?” Zhao snapped. “It’s machines like these that are keeping us afloat on this ship, not your silly little plays.”

“Well, fine.” Zuko seethed. “If it’s so interesting, how does it work?”

To Zuko’s dismay, his sarcasm completely flew over Zhao’s head when the admiral took it as a cue to launch into an extremely detailed explanation, pointing out each component that made up the machine while listing its importance and function to keep the machine running as a whole.

_‘Oh Agni, is this what I sound like when I talk about Love Amongst the Dragons?’_

“- it utilizes the hydrophore system to maintain the correct water pressure in order to supply the ship with all the freshwater we could ever need -” 

Hearing Zhao now, he almost couldn’t fault the older man for always falling asleep during his spiels on playwriting. But he was also sure that this was worse. At least when Zuko slipped into his ‘nerd rants’ he did so in a way that could be followed along. This, on the other hand, felt like what was coming out of Zhao’s mouth wasn’t even a human language.

“- it’s all in the air compression which keeps the pressure within the right range without needing to stop and start pumps all the time –”

Spirits, please put him out of his misery.

“The gauge over here is used to measure the water capacity. This is what triggers the pressure switch to either open or close the valve for the air supply –”

“Alright, I think that’s enough.” Zuko winced, cutting him off. “You’ve completely lost me there.”

“I suppose I was expecting too much,” Zhao snarked, “to think that you would be interested in something that could add to your skillset.”

“You can say that to me once you appreciate the intricacies of _Love Amongst the Dragons_.” Zuko sniffed.

Zhao simply shook his head with an amused smile and turned back to adjusting a few knobs here and there within the machine. “I still don’t know what you see in such inane hobbies.”

“Could say the same for you.” Zuko retorted, fighting back his own smile. This was good. These weren’t the same vicious barbs they used to toss at each other. Zuko took it as a sign that their relationship was improving. That they were taking the steps towards unlearning how to antagonize each other and instead picking up banter in favour.

“Whatever. I’ll just be another few minutes. You can entertain yourself by sticking your head in the boiler or something.” Zhao waved him off with the hand still holding the screwdriver.

“I’ll go find a boiler big enough to stick your ego-swollen head in.”

“Better test it yourself first then.”

“I thought superior officers were entitled to having the first pick?”

“Sure, the first pick as to who gets thrown into the boiler.”

Jaozi hid behind one of said boilers, not daring to make even the slightest peep. Not when the memory of last night was still fresh in his memory. No, under no circumstances could he let either Zhao or Newbie notice his presence.

But just because he couldn’t let them see him doesn’t mean he was banned from eavesdropping. The ‘argument’ was still ongoing in the background, after all. But Jaozi couldn’t detect any genuine hostility in either of their tones, even as they were casually threatening each other with bodily harm.

If this was how Zhao flirted, and if Newbie was reciprocating in turn …

Jaozi shuddered.

Yeah, they definitely deserved each other.

* * *

It had been a rather laid-back day with fewer responsibilities to cover than normal. By the time evening rolled around, they found themselves standing outside on the upper deck, leaning against the railings and stargazing just for the hell of it.

(Neither of them noticed a small gaggle of onlookers below quietly cheering at how successful they were at music night, to the point that they had achieved setting up a starlit ‘date’. Alas, they were ushered away by a frantic Jaozi, whose self-preservation instincts were still on high alert).

“I’ve always liked stories, but I didn’t know anything about navigating by the stars.” Zuko suddenly divulged, peering up at the glittering pinpricks of light above. “The crew had to teach me, and then I got interested enough to go look for scrolls which told the stories behind the constellations.”

He glanced curiously at Zhao. “Did you learn from your father?”

“Partly, yes.” Zhao replied, turning his gaze upward. “He taught me the bare bones. The rest of it – well,” a scowl overtook his face. “Passed down from an old teacher.”

He schooled his expression back to normalcy and turned to look at Zuko. “Actually, I was a bit like you. Hunted down any scroll and book I could find to learn the stories surrounding their naming conventions.”

“Something we have in common, then.” Zuko hummed.

“What was the extent of your reading?”

“I know a fair bit,” Zuko acknowledged, “turns out when you’re stuck at sea, you tend to get a lot of spare time.”

“Hear, hear.” Zhao smiled playfully. “Think you know more than a naval officer?”

A spark of childish competitiveness sparked within Zuko, and found himself straightening up with determination. “You’re on. First who can’t name a star or constellation loses? Bonus points if you can give the story behind it.”

“Are we betting anything?”

“Nah. But whoever wins can take solace in superior knowledge?” Zuko offered.

Zhao chuckled. “Fine. You first then,”

Zuko looked around furtively and, finding nobody around, took off his helmet so he could survey the black expanse of the sky better. After a couple moments, he settled on a line of stars glimmering faintly in the distance.

“There. That one, what is it?”

“Blade of Wei-Han. To celebrate his triumph over the tyrant Emperor Qing, he threw his sword into the skies to demonstrate his strength. The spirits were so impressed that they eternalized his feat by creating a constellation in the shape of his sword. Coincidentally, the sword points towards the east.” Zhao rattled off.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Zuko nodded. “Your turn.”

Zhao only took a few seconds to decide.

“There,” He announced, pointing out a star on the far left. “What do you know of that one?”

“That’s Chong’s Star,” Zuko replied, confused he had picked a very commonly used star for navigation. “You use it as a marker for the south-east.”

“Yes indeed. But in the Earth Kingdom, they call it Lei’s Diamond. Named after Lei-Wong, one of the first merchants.”

“Huh,” Zuko hummed. “Where did you pick that up from?”

“One of the colonies north of Ba Sing Se,” Zhao replied, “I was serving as a lieutenant when we stopped by it. I couldn’t resist visiting their library, even though it wasn’t fully re-constitutionalized yet.”

Zuko nodded thoughtfully. “Alright, my turn again. That one, next to the Southern Goose-Rabbit.”

“Su-An’s Pinnacle,” Zhao answered readily, “I think it’s the one with the older sister of the deposed king who… no? Am I wrong?” He asked, noticing Zuko’s impish grin and shaking head.

“That’s a misconception. It’s actually named after the mother.”

Zhao frowned. “Source?”

“A scroll I found in the Western Air Temple, dating back approximately three hundred years before the discovery of the Guan-Long records.”

“Alright, you got me there.” Zhao admitted. “Do you still happen to have that scroll?”

He was never one to turn down the opportunity to expand or update his knowledge on things that interested him, after all. Even if it did come from the air nomads.

“I left it in the temple. And even if I did, you blew up my ship, remember?”

“I have no recollection of this.” Zhao grinned blithely. “Over there, to the right of Su-An’s Pinnacle.”

“Jia-Hu the phoenix,” Zuko responded easily, decidedly ignoring the slight. “Also known as the Hunter’s Spear by the Northern Water Tribe.”

“You know that?” Zhao asked, surprised.

“I bought a scroll off a travelling merchant on Northern Water Tribe legends.” Zuko replied. “Where did you learn?”

“Inushi Library.”

“I went there once,” Zuko said, “when I was six, I think. They had the most information on the Water Tribes out of all the libraries on the mainland.”

“Indeed. The other libraries in the Fire Nation are rather lacking in that department. Even the Royal Library, if I recall properly.” Zhao tapped his chin in thought.

“It’s a shame,” Zuko sighed, “I know the Fire Nation is trying to spread civilization across the world, but it is somewhat of a pity that a lot of those texts and scrolls get destroyed. It’s actually pretty interesting reading about all those different cultures.”

“That’s very astute of you, Prince Zuko.” A voice suddenly interjected from behind them. Startled, they whirled around to see Iroh smiling beatifically at them as he made his way over. “Like I’ve said many times, it is advantageous to draw upon as many different sources of knowledge as possible.”

“We are discussing mere stories.” Zhao replied, brows drawn together in confusion. “I don’t see how the stars are applicable. They do not change no matter where you go.”

“That’s true,” Iroh agreed, “but consider the lessons different stories of the same star can teach.”

“Please don’t spout another proverb,” Zuko pleaded. “We’re just trying to pass the time. Do you want to join us, Uncle? We’re at a stand-still for now.”

“Thank you for the offer, Nephew.” Iroh beamed happily, “But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. Navigation by the stars are not my forte; you would both thoroughly beat me in this particular game.”

“You can listen in then?” Zuko offered.

“That, I will happily accept.” Iroh tucked his hands in his sleeves and turned his gaze up towards the stars. “Whose turn is it?”

“I believe it’s mine,” Zuko said, “name that one on the far left of Bing-Lu.”

Zhao peered up at the night sky contemplatively. “Hm, this one I may need to think about for a moment… Feng Lao? No, that can’t be right…”

“Do you give up?” Zuko grinned.

“No, no. Give me a minute.” Zhao squinted, tilting his head slightly. “Hu-Xiang? Ah, that’s not right either.”

He pondered for a few more minutes, listing a few more names under his breath before his eyes widened.

“Zilan the Warrior!” He exclaimed confidently. Zuko pouted but nodded.

“Yeah. I thought I had you for a moment.”

“It was a difficult one, I’ll admit.” Zhao acquiesced. “There are people who claim that if it were joined up with Bing-Lu, the constellation looks like dango.”

Zuko laughed at that but Iroh looked (predictably) interested.

“Speaking of dango,” Iroh began, “I convinced the head cook to make some daifuku tomorrow. I was wondering if you two would be inclined to join me for tea in the afternoon. Good food and drink always taste better with company, after all.”

“Sure Uncle,” Zuko agreed, “what flavours?”

Iroh frowned. “Now Zuko, you know there is an unmatched pleasure in traditional flavours –”

“But you requested matcha, right?” Zuko interrupted eagerly.

“Yes,” Iroh sighed heavily, defeated. “I requested matcha. The cook was gracious enough to oblige my request.”

“Matcha tastes better than red bean, at least in daifuku.” Zuko shrugged, not noticing Iroh’s stricken look.

“Surely you appreciate the beauty of traditional flavours, Zhao?” Iroh asked. Zhao stiffened and hesitated for a second too long. Iroh was beginning to look a little perturbed.

“Matcha daifuku is a guilty pleasure of mine,” Zhao confessed. “I have nothing against red bean, I just prefer the slight bitterness matcha offers.”

Iroh shook his head mournfully.

“Ah, the fallacies of youth.” He sighed, “Very well. I’ll put in a request for extra matcha daifuku. I have been experimenting with a new tea blend to pair with daifuku in mind. It may be interesting to see how well it will go with different flavours, I suppose.”

It was only the rare look of childish joy on Zuko’s face which prevented Iroh from harping on about their underappreciation for traditional flavours. Unfortunately, he didn’t have long to cherish the moment before Zhao interrupted by picking out the next star.

“That one.”

“Tigerdillo’s Eye. The story behind it isn’t as cool as it sounds - an eccentric astronomer named it after his pet tigerdillo.”

“Correct.”

“Fascinating.” Iroh chuckled, thinking of a certain Earth King who would no doubt do the same thing given the chance.

Zuko scratched his neck in thought, before noticing a lone star close to the moon. Its associated story was a bit controversial, and in some cases, military commanders even refused to acknowledge it.

“Do you know what that one is?” Zuko asked softly, pointing it out. Zhao followed the line of his finger, stiffening when he realized which star Zuko had chosen.

“Guang-Lu. To commemorate the deserters and the forsaken. Hung in the sky by General Hsin, who was too soft-hearted to leave his soldiers to condemnation.” Zhao said, somewhat numbly.

“What is the story behind it?” Iroh prompted curiously.

“General Hsin was a man of unprecedented genius and unrivalled leadership. He was benevolent as much as he was a master in combat. And despite his bloody reputation, he was also a family man. His son, Guang-Lu, followed his father’s footsteps and joined his army as his right-hand man. But Guang-Lu was weak of will; could not stomach the sights of war. He kept it from his father, not wishing to bring shame upon him. Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore, and in a fit of madness, threw himself off a cliff so that he wouldn’t have to participate in anymore battles.” Zhao clutched the railings in a white-knuckle grip. “He turned against his father, his general, his army, his duty. But his father, the soft-hearted fool he was, could not bear the thought of his son forsaken and lost in the dishonour his desertion brought to his name. He hung a lantern in the sky and named it after his treacherous son, in hopes that it would lead him and any other deserter or forsaken of the army to the afterlife.”

“Is that not one of the greatest mercies anyone could bestow on the lost?” Iroh prompted softly.

“Yeah,” Zuko agreed, somewhat confused by Zhao’s calloused answer. “Isn’t it good there’s a way for deserters to find their way home?”

“They lost any right to return home when they turned their backs on the army.” Zhao said coldly. Iroh frowned.

“They had simply lost their way,” The general said gently, “everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Like my old teacher?” Zhao asked bitterly, “Does he deserve the benefit of the doubt? When he was hiding away in a forest with a band of other weaklings? Turned against their home country, rejected by the colonies…”

He gave a sharp, sardonic laugh. “Is that the way to live? I’d rather die on the front lines than hide like a recluse.”

“Zhao…” Iroh frowned sadly. “Sometimes, they feel they had no choice.”

“Oh, he had a choice.” Zhao spat, “And he decided he was too good for the military. He wasn’t under any orders to do it. He was _completely_ aware of what he was choosing.”

“Does it upset you this much your old teacher deserted the army?” Iroh’s eyes were a mix of soft, sad, open and warm, encouraging Zhao to spill his secrets. He hated it.

“I’m not upset! I just – I – it wasn’t just the army he turned his back on! He turned away from – from –” Zhao cut himself off, pale and shaking imperceptibly from… anger? Pain? Disappointment? His face was tight, giving nothing away.

“What else did he turn away from?” Iroh prompted gently.

“Everything,” Zhao snarled, “everything that mattered. But it clearly meant nothing to him if he was perfectly content to pack up and go live in the forest like a savage.”

“Maybe he found another purpose,” Iroh approached him carefully, his hand outstretched as he made to touch him. The admiral recoiled, as if his touch were poison.

“Deserting is cowardly! Just as how the forsaken kill themselves because they can’t handle the ways of war.” Zhao growled, “It’s weakness. It’s the most disrespectful crime you could commit to your fellow countrymen, to your nation, to – to –” he swallowed. “There is no saving grace for them.” 

A sudden cold breeze washed over them. Iroh shivered, withdrawing his hand in favour of drawing his cloak tighter around himself. But he tried one last time, “Maybe there’s a good reason behind their desertion. It could be worth hearing them out.”

“Nothing they say could justify themselves,” Zhao sneered with finality in his voice. “That’s all I have to say about it.”

Iroh stared at the young man before him regretfully. It was clear the admiral was adamantly refusing to open up. There was no point trying to pry further when he would only pull his shell closed tighter. No, it was better to try wrangle out Zhao’s side of the story another day.

There was also no chance Zhao could return to the relative peace and content he’d been experiencing before Iroh had shown up if he insisted on staying.

“You boys don’t stay up too late; it’s been rather chilly the past few nights.” Iroh offered a wan smile before heading back inside, leaving Zhao and Zuko alone once again.

“Last round?” Zuko asked, desperate to pull both Zhao and himself out of their thoughts. “It’s your turn.”

“Alright,” Zhao agreed, waspish mood seemingly lifted once Iroh had taken his leave. “Let’s have a look then…”

He surveyed the sky slowly, humming low in his throat as he picked apart the stars before finally settling on a lonesome pair glinting further away from the main congregation.

“… Those two, far out from the rest.”

“Rong-Ka and Si-Huang. _‘Friends who stemmed from enemies_.’” Zuko quoted. Zhao nodded.

“In some versions of the tale they became lovers. Sounds like hogwash to me, romanticized by incorrigible storytellers who place far too much emphasis on love.” Zhao scoffed.

“Of course you would be against that,” Zuko snorted, “it’s not all that bad.”

Zhao rolled his eyes, an impatient thrum in his voice. “Oh, don’t tell me you buy into that nonsense.”

“Only if it’s not over-dramatic or one of those cliché love stories.” Zuko crossed his arms defensively.

Zhao shook his head, “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve heard enough about Dragons in Lovefor a lifetime.”

“ _Love Amongst the Dragons._ And you could stand to hear more.”

“Please spare me the rant. I don’t think sleeping against the railing would be beneficial to my back’s long-term wellbeing.” The older man patted the metal railings as if wondering how its unyielding shape and rigidity would fare against his back.

“Asshole.” Zuko shot back almost fondly.

“Yes?” Zhao answered without missing a beat.

Zuko couldn’t stop his ensuing laughter. He hadn’t been expecting Zhao to have a – well, a sense of humour. A very dry, sarcastic one, yes, but a sense of humour all the same. It was startling; only a little while ago if he called the man an asshole, he’d probably attempt to throw Zuko overboard, not play along with it like they were… friends?

No, ‘friends’ left a strange taste in his mouth. More like… enemies with less animosity than before. A bit of a mouthful, but Zuko didn’t know how else to describe it.

He cleared his throat delicately. “I guess we should heed Uncle’s advice. It’s getting colder.”

“Not a problem for us, what with our ability to regulate our body temperature and all that.” Zhao shrugged, “But then again, if we’re to sit through a tea party with your uncle tomorrow, we’ll need all the rest we can get.”

“Uncle’s tea parties always include Pai Sho and playing the tsungi horn.” Zuko warned.

“I’ll play Pai Sho if you take care of the tsungi horn.”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zhao and Zuko are nerds pass it on.


	8. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zhao and Zuko are asked about some hard truths. But maybe along the lines, they will gain a better understanding of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight so it turns out you won't really be able to keep Zhao's canon age in this fic cos plot demands it to be so. It'll still be ambiguous but for reference I've been picturing him as mid to late twenties.

Sure enough, Iroh tracked down Zhao and Zuko in the afternoon to haul them into an empty room where a Pai Sho board was already set up. To Zuko’s unending exasperation, his uncle also insisted he play a few musical pieces to set the mood. Holding up his end of the deal, Zuko indulged Iroh’s musical inclinations whilst Zhao prepared himself to settle into no doubt multiple rounds of Pai Sho.

“Now, you’ll tell me if there’s anything you don’t like about this tea blend,” Iroh said cheerfully, pouring out their cups. “I decided to be a bit ambitious with this blend. A harmony between an Earth Kingdom tea and our very own Fire Nation spiced tea.”

Zuko held the cup up to his nose and took a tentative sniff. It had an earthy, almost floral scent to it, yet there was also the underlying trace of some citrus fruit. Zhao looked a little apprehensive as he took a sip, rolling the flavour over his tongue scrupulously.

“It’s… unlike any tea blend I’ve tried before,” Zhao offered, taking a second sip. “It’s not bad, but you may like to tone down the grapefruit in it, it overpowers the other flavours by quite a margin.”

“Yes, I just noticed that too. Thank you for your insight, Admiral.” Iroh smiled, taking a sip of his own. “Prince Zuko, what do you think?”

“It tastes like tea, Uncle.” Zuko replied doubtfully.

“Think about the subtle undertones, Zuko.”

“Uh,” Zuko took a deeper drink. The steam that wafted up was fragrant sure, now that the grapefruit had been mentioned. But like all teas, the smell didn’t transfer to the taste. A little tangy, maybe. And, um… flowery?

Iroh sighed as soon as he saw Zuko’s scrunched-up face. “That’s alright, Nephew. Maybe next time.”

Zuko fidgeted uncomfortably. He’d never been able to grasp the nuances behind tea-making and its flavours, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make an attempt to offer his uncle thoughtful feedback. At least Zhao seemed to be able to cover that front; although the feeling that he’d somehow let down Uncle still twisted up inside him.

“The first move goes to you, Admiral.” Iroh gestured to the board, taking the opportunity to get started on one of the daifuku. Zhao barely thought it over for a second before sliding a tile forward.

“You came prepared with a strategy in mind?” Iroh’s eyebrows rose into his hairline with surprise. He hadn’t even taken a bite yet.

“I’ve learned from last time, General Iroh.” Zhao folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s just say I’ve been cataloguing your favoured strategies.”

Zuko thought that was a bit intensive for a game of Pai Sho, but Iroh clearly had different ideas. He smiled shrewdly, making his own move. “Is that so? Well, this will certainly be an interesting match.”

It carried on like this for the next fifteen minutes with both men fixated on the board, shuffling tiles here and there in a bid to back the other in a corner. Zuko yawned, picking up one of the daifuku and munching on it contently.

“How have your preparations for the upcoming siege been going, Zhao?” Iroh asked suddenly.

“All according to plan for now. There are several fine details yet to be ironed out, but I suspect most of it will be sorted in the next war council.”

“That’s good to hear. Not long until we reach the Northern Waters proper,” Iroh noted. “Have you sailed into the poles before?”

“No,” Zhao slid a tile forward. “I’ve sailed far enough to experience a snowstorm. It was not for me.”

“Not a fan of snow, Admiral?” Iroh looked amused.

“It gets everywhere, melts, leaves you wet, and eats up your energy to steam it all off.” Zhao scoffed. “It felt like I had to eat an entire komodo rhino just to keep my extremities warm.”

Iroh let out a loud belly laugh. “Ah, an unfortunate side-effect to constant thermal regulation in the cold.”

“Hence why I preferred to stay within the Earth Kingdom.” Zhao poured himself another cup of tea, lifting it to inhale the curling steam.

“As far as I am aware, only the Southern Raiders were sent to the South Pole. We haven’t even bothered to touch the North until now. As you were part of the main naval force, there was little chance you would’ve been sent there.” Iroh rubbed his chin in thought. It’d been an age since he was last in direct correspondence with military matters within the mainland, but this was a fact he knew with certainty.

“I had an offer once, to join the Southern Raiders.” Zhao divulged, “That’s why I sailed around the waters of the pole. A test run, if you will. Had I accepted the position, I would’ve gone through the training to withstand the environmental conditions. I didn’t end up enjoying the snow, though. Just as well, Admiral Shu would have loathed my leaving of his command.”

Admiral Shu. Zhao mentioned him at music night when he was justifying why he had a talent in singing. Not that Iroh thought it needed any justification. In his opinion, it was a pity Zhao withheld that little fact about himself in the first place.

But regardless, Iroh knew for a fact that Shu had been an influential character in Zhao’s life; and it was a story he had been most curious about for a long time.

“The Southern Raiders had the most action when they rounded up the southern waterbenders. After that, well, their duties weren’t any different from yours in the Earth Kingdom.” Iroh shuffled a tile on the board, getting out of the trap Zhao had been laying out.

“It wasn’t like it was a particularly hard job,” Zhao drummed his fingers on the table, recalculating his next moves. “They didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“They would not have fallen so easily if not for the fact that the North isolated themselves from the South. When their sister tribe called out for help, they refused to respond. And the South fell as consequence, ravaged until there was nothing more to them than a few desolate huts and a handful of villagers.”

Zhao scoffed, sliding a dragon tile to the left. “And that’s why you don’t rely on others for help.”

“No. There is beauty in camaraderie. Sometimes you need to open yourself up to someone and place your trust within them. To do so will lead to great things. The North and the South were already growing distant even before the raids happened.” Iroh glanced down in surprise as Zhao smirked and captured his rose tile.

“Well-played.” Iroh acknowledged, before smiling reticently. “But you forget that allies can be everywhere.”

He slid a tile across and captured Zhao’s jasmine tile. The admiral scowled and surveyed the board again, tapping his fingers against it in thought. Zuko drank his tea in peace, more than happy Zhao had taken over the Pai Sho duties while he relaxed with sweet treats and tea.

“The South had no allies in the end. Sure, there were the occasional Earth Kingdom traders that felt sorry for them, but no-one was able to dig them out of the rut they were in.” Kind of like the one Zhao was in. He did a few mental calculations, but all moves inevitably led to Iroh’s trap. Still, he wasn’t one to give up easily. One tile slid forward.

“No, they did not have anyone to fall back on in the end.” Iroh conceded, careful to disguise his sadness for a people unjustly abandoned by everyone, even by their sister tribe. “But it is always a gamble one must take when placing their trust in someone. If you trust the right person,” he slid a tile over, capturing another one of Zhao’s, “then you will be rewarded a hundred times in return. Trust the wrong person,” Zhao retaliated by capturing the very same tile that had just taken his out of the game, “and you suffer for it. But, the other person will suffer in turn as well.”

Iroh trapped three of Zhao’s tiles, winning the round. The admiral begrudgingly accepted his defeat and poured himself another cup of tea.

“An engaging first round, Zhao.” Iroh praised. “Another? Or would you prefer if Prince Zuko took the reins?”

Zuko looked up from where he was busying himself with a plate of daifuku and shot a nervous look towards Zhao, which did not go unnoticed by Iroh. The admiral rolled his eyes in response and began resetting the board.

“No, no, I’ll continue playing.” He sighed, looking resigned. Iroh hid a smile behind the rim of his teacup, amused by the sheer relief poorly hidden on Zuko’s face.

“Trust is a precious thing,” Iroh continued, making the first move this time. “Without it, even the foundations of our great army would crumble.”

“That may be so in the army,” Zhao retorted, “but you’ll hardly find it in the court.”

“It’s a sad truth,” Iroh agreed, “although, you are more of a military man than a politician, if I’m correct in my assumption?”

“You’d be right about that,” Zhao nodded, deliberating over his next move. “Politics are an entanglement of falsehoods and delicate boundaries. I prefer the blunter approach.”

Iroh smiled congenially. “That would suit your style more, yes. But regardless, it is always a good thing to keep people you trust close to you. It makes life that much more bearable.”

“And I suppose you don’t place much focus on the part where people use you to climb the ranks of society.” Zhao muttered, finally sliding a tile forward.

“That’s not always the only reason for people to trust each other. Why, I would not have won many of my military campaigns if it weren’t for the bonds I shared with my fellow men.”

“Oh, do tell.” Zhao drawled sarcastically. Iroh wasn’t put off by his sardonic behaviour, instead clearing his throat in preparation for his story.

But then he paused. And laughed. “Zhao, you are so absorbed in the game that you have forgotten your matcha daifuku!” He shoved a plate towards him. “The cook worked so hard on these; it would be a pity to let them go to waste.”

The admiral grunted something, his eyes still trained on the board in front of him, but he obediently reached out and nabbed one of the daifuku, unceremoniously shoving half of it in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. A smattering of rice flour drifted upwards, dusting the corners of his mouth. He didn’t seem to notice, still engrossed in planning his next moves.

And without even thinking of it, a sudden memory hit Iroh as he watched Zhao push the rest of the sweet into one corner of his mouth and chew with hurried yet subtle movements.

_On the rare occasion Iroh was able to make time to visit his close friends, he always made it a point to go see what Jeong Jeong was up to, both to play a riveting round of Pai Sho and to hear what news there was from the navy._

_It was on one such occasion that he had visited while Jeong Jeong was busy with a student. The man had been delighted to see him of course, but he covered it up with a scowl and pretence of grumpy irritation. Nevertheless, he sat Iroh down with a pot of tea and gestured for his student to come closer._

_Jeong Jeong’s student maundered over with the curious eyes of any child, but it was obvious he was raised within the ranks of nobility as he swept into a perfect bow and respectfully intoned, “Crown Prince Iroh.”_

_He was about the same age as his beloved Lu Ten, and the demands of fatherhood spurred him to reach out and ruffle the boy’s brown hair. The boy blinked in shock, automatically reaching up to fix the disarray._

_Iroh chortled. “No need for formalities, young one. Do you like mochi? I brought some along with me, made by the palace’s kitchen staff. Chef Hina is an unparalleled master when it comes to making sweets.”_

_Jeong Jeong spoke up before the boy could even open his mouth. “Don’t spoil him, Iroh. He’s barely halfway through his training for the day.”_

_“No need to be so hard on him,” Iroh grinned, “letting him have a treat wouldn’t hurt anybody.”_

_“He’s a little menace,” Jeong Jeong retorted gruffly, “he needs discipline.”_

_“Prince Iroh outranks you, Master Jeong Jeong.” The boy pointed out solemnly. “You should do what he says.”_

_Iroh guffawed heartily and only laughed harder as Jeong Jeong’s face began to flush red with rage. “He has a point,” Iroh managed to get out between his chuckles, “I decree you give him a treat; for both his wiliness and fortitude in lasting this long under your training regime.”_

_Jeong Jeong glowered at him, a promise to get him back glinting in his eyes. Nevertheless, he grabbed a mochi and shoved it into the beaming boy’s hands before shooing him off. “Go on, get. Eat it quickly and start your meditation.”_

_“Yes, Master Jeong Jeong.” He said impishly, shoving it into his mouth whole and chewing quickly but silently, one of his soft cheeks bulging with the treat as he scampered off._

_“He eats like a flying chipmunk,” Iroh noted with amusement._

_“He’s had a lot of practice with eating things secretly,” Jeong Jeong replied drily. “Only with snacks, though. It’s like he’s afraid of being caught indulging in a treat.”_

_“It’s not uncommon for noble families to look down on children acting their age,” Iroh murmured, somewhat dejectedly. “Quite often eating snacks outside of acceptable circumstances is thought to be unsightly. The children are often… punished if they’re caught.”_

_Jeong Jeong looked after the boy, who had clambered up to his usual meditating spot with no sign he’d even shoved mochi into his mouth just moments before._

_“That might explain why he wolfs down his sweets so quickly,” he muttered. Then he cleared his throat and said, louder, “I hope you’ll forgive Zhao’s impertinence. He’s got a talent for cheekiness, that one.”_

_Iroh tried not to laugh when the boy – Zhao – cracked an eye open and shot a petulant glare at the back of Jeong Jeong’s head._

_“There’s nothing to forgive.” Iroh winked, subtly angling it at Jeong Jeong’s student around the other man’s head. From the satisfied smile that spread across Zhao’s young face, the message had been received._

_When Iroh finally returned to the palace, he came back to an urgent correspondence requesting his presence at the frontlines as soon as possible. Whatever he’d talked about with Jeong Jeong that afternoon, as well as the entire debacle with his student, completely slipped out of his mind since._

Until now, at least.

“Flying chipmunk,” Iroh murmured. Zhao looked up, confused, subtle movements of his jaw indicating he was still working on the daifuku. It was an almost exact replica of how he ate that mochi as a boy.

“Pardon?” He asked, after swallowing. Iroh studied the man in front of him, mentally comparing him to the young boy he’d met what felt like a lifetime ago. He’d changed, obviously. Sharper cheekbones and fine lines replaced the softness of youth, impassive eyes in lieu of a mischievous spark, a deep, dark voice overtaking the boyish, impatient tones he’d possessed as a child.

Iroh had completely forgotten his first meeting with Zhao was not as a cold and cutting captain, but as a boy with nothing more to his name than being a little terror.

Did Zhao even remember that day? Or had it been swept away within the midst of countless other memories? He thought about asking, but he doubted the man would appreciate discussing his childhood in front of others. Agni knows how many times Zuko had thrown a fit when Iroh attempted to regale others of his childhood stories.

“No, nothing.” Iroh said brightly, “just lost in my thoughts.”

“Thinking of your great conquest won by trust?”

“Oh yes, thank you for the reminder,” Iroh continued cheerfully, taking the opportunity to change the subject. “It was during the conquest of Xi-Dong when I came to a crossroad between two decisions that could decide the fate of the battle. I could either hold all my men close to me and hope for the best by launching a collective assault on Xi-Dong’s walls, or I could split my army and let one of my officers lead part of it to attack from behind and meet me in a pincer attack.”

Iroh sipped his tea. “The problem with that strategy was that our communications would be severed between us. I would need to trust my men to make the best decisions possible without my guidance or leadership. It was a gamble, and I took it.”

“It worked, I presume.”

“Yes indeed,” Iroh slid a tile forward, trapping one of Zhao’s. “Trust is sometimes an unforgiving mistress. But other times when you believe in others, you are richly rewarded in treasures that transcend beyond material possessions.”

Zhao looked disinterested. “That’s not what I was taught.”

“Neither was I,” Iroh smiled. “It was something I learned.”

A contemplative look crossed Zhao’s face.

“Another daifuku, Zhao?” Iroh plated himself a red bean daifuku and hovered his hand over a matcha flavoured one.

“Yes please,” Zhao nodded his thanks when Iroh placed it on his plate. The matcha ones were all nearly gone, Zuko having been picking them off silently in the background. Once he saw the other man relax with his prize, Iroh decided to cautiously begin probing.

“War has made up my entire life, but it has offered many learning opportunities.” He started, eying Zhao for any adverse reactions.

“Mm,” Zhao hummed in agreement, taking a bite of his daifuku.

“What do you think of the war, Zhao?”

“What do you mean?” The admiral looked up, frowning. Iroh resisted the urge to reach out and brush a few clinging specks of rice flour off his cheeks like he would do for Zuko without a second thought.

“What do you think we’re fighting for?” Iroh amended, “To be specific, what do you think _you’re_ fighting for?”

“My goals are aligned with those of the throne,” Zhao said dutifully, sounding like he was reciting something from a book of rules and conduct. “To spread the prosperity of the Fire Nation and bring civilization across the world.”

“And do you think warfare is the best way to go about it?” Iroh asked.

“What other way is there?” Zhao furrowed his eyebrows. “The other nations resist because their heads of state refuse to see reason. The Fire Nation didn’t instigate the war; the air nomads attacked us first and then attempted to coerce the other nations to rise up against us.”

“So do you think the death and devastation that has been wrought is justified?”

“It’s an unavoidable consequence of war.” Zhao replied plainly, resolute in his answer.

“What about those who kill for no good reason? Do you think they are justified?”

“The actions of a few cannot be a collective reflection on an entire nation.” Zhao said slowly, as if Iroh was a particularly dim-witted child. “There are people who are… overzealous with their methods of civilization certainly, but fanatical devotion to a cause is the case no matter where you go in the world.”

“So you are saying these people are simply eager about contributing to the goal of spreading civilization?” Iroh clarified.

“Yes, as that is the purpose of the Fire Lord and his people.”

“If the Fire Nation wishes to spread civilization across the world, do you not find it ironic that people outside of us are called savages and barbarians and are consistently put down?”

“It’s the truth,” Zhao protested, “and if they just listened to us, we wouldn’t have to degrade them.”

Iroh nodded despite every fibre of his being screaming in disagreement. “One last thing, Zhao. Do you believe there is pleasure to be found in killing?”

“Uncle, stop asking him these kinds of questions.” Zuko admonished him, lips pursed in disapproval. He’d been sitting back idly watching the entire thing play out, but he too was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“They are hard questions,” Iroh agreed plaintively, “but they must be answered in order to understand your true motivations. Zhao, do you believe there is enjoyment in killing?”

Zhao started to tense, his eyes narrowing, and the first curls of smoke began to trail out of his palms. “There is pleasure in ridding nuisances.”

“So you wouldn’t kill a civilian of the Fire Nation?”

“Not without good reason. I’m not barbaric,” he sniffed, “not like the Water Tribes. They drown anyone who disagrees with them.”

“And what about a civilian of another nation? Would you kill them if they did nothing to you?”

Zhao eyed Iroh cautiously. “… No, I wouldn’t. If they’re a civilian, they can be re-educated.”

“Alright,” Iroh replied, “then let’s come back to a previous point. You mentioned that the Water Tribes would drown anyone who goes against their ideals. How would this be different to the executions of say, Earth Kingdom protestors if it were performed in the name of the Fire Nation?”

“Well, we gave them a chance.” Zhao began, “If they’re not willing to put aside their own prejudices and learn the ways of the modern age, then it’s better to put them out of their misery than it is to let them wallow in their own self-pity and destitution.”

“Is that what you were taught in school?”

“Are you implying there was something wrong with my education?” Zhao asked defensively. “You’re treading on thin ice, General. Under normal circumstances, asking such questions of me would be inappropriate at best. At worst, I could accuse you of treason.”

Zuko shot an urgent look at Iroh, pleading with his eyes for him to apologize to the other man. They could not afford things to escalate, as Zhao had a proclivity to do when he felt like he was being threatened into a corner.

“… I apologize for overstepping my boundaries, Admiral.” Iroh dipped his head in a small bow, “I let my curiosity get the better of me.”

“I’m willing to overlook it this once, General Iroh. But I cannot guarantee a second time,” Zhao warned. “You may be the Fire Lord’s older brother, but even you are bound to your oath as a citizen of the Fire Nation.”

“Of course,” Iroh nodded, “my best interest lies in serving my nation. You have no reason to doubt that, Admiral.”

He’d deliberately omitted claiming he served the Fire Lord, but from the way the other man’s eyes sharpened, he’d clearly caught on. Iroh waited for a correction, but it did not come.

“See that I don’t,” Zhao instead said coolly, setting down a tile in place with a resounding ‘click’. “I wouldn’t wish for anything in the topic of treason to come to fruition during the entire expedition. If at all, as a matter of fact.”

“No,” Iroh agreed, “I would hope not.”

They lapsed into silence, both men unyielding to the other, waiting to see who would break first. Zuko coughed, desperately wanting to break the cold tension that had frosted over the room. “There’s one more daifuku. Do you want it, Uncle?”

“I think I’ve had one too many,” Iroh grinned, patting his belly. “Admiral Zhao? Would you care for another?”

“What flavour?” Zhao grunted, finally refocusing his gaze on the board.

“Red bean.”

“Haven’t had that one yet. Alright,” he reached out and took it from Zuko’s proffered plate. The prince held back a sigh of relief. With the admiral distracted (Iroh watched like a hawk as Zhao repeated his earlier movements, methodically pushing the sweet into his mouth and chewing with almost urgent swiftness), Zuko got to work changing the subject to a lighter topic with his uncle.

“Uncle, have you been making any other new tea blends?”

Iroh’s face lit up like he was Agni incarnate and began speaking in flourishing tones, gesticulating wildly, “I’m so touched you asked, Nephew! As a matter of fact, I’ve got a new budding idea for a spiced tea blend – it actually hit me all of a sudden when I was taking a stroll through the corridors and –”

As his uncle dissolved into a spiel about how lovely it would be to get his hands on tea leaves that you could only really get in the far corners of the world, Zuko pretended not to acknowledge the grateful nod Zhao offered to him.

* * *

The game had carried all the way through till dinner. In that time, Zuko had held conversation after conversation with his uncle about as many of the man’s interests as he could, ranging from how the next music night should be planned, to _oh yes, I do think taking up poetry night could be a fine addition to long days on sea,_ and finally to the pastries that should be served for the next war council.

Zhao had contributed little to the conversation and when he did, he directed most of his remarks towards Zuko.

The game ended with Zhao ‘gently’ reminding Iroh that dinner was soon and perhaps they should call it the last round because everyone must be starving. Zuko had no doubt he was regretting taking the Pai Sho playing side of their deal. All he had to do was pick up the tsungi horn every once in a while and play a tune or two.

It wasn’t all for nought though. Zhao had managed to win one round, much to his endless satisfaction and the other two’s disbelief.

Zuko, because he had never once seen his Uncle lose to anyone.

Iroh, because he couldn’t believe Zhao’s tactic to distract him with thoughts of roast duck had actually worked.

They’d headed their separate ways after dinner. Iroh taking a stroll to apparently work off the combination of daifuku and roast duck, and Zhao tackling a mountain of paperwork that had been heaped onto his desk.

And then a few more hours later had Zhao and Zuko already tucked in their respective beds, reading before settling down to sleep for the night.

Zhao was devouring a retelling of a past military expedition while Zuko had entertained himself with a historical volume he’d found tucked within the closet. He’d secretly been hoping Zhao was hiding something embarrassing like a cheesy romance novel, but to no avail. Instead, he’d only found a collection of books titled _‘The Art of War and its Modern-Day Applications’._

Not the most interesting material, but it was better than nothing. Of course, his interest had been stirred more when he saw Zhao had scrawled annotations all over the pages.

On some pages, the notes were scant; but on others, they littered the entire passage to the point Zuko found it hard to discern which part of the contents the notes were referring to.

_‘May be adapted for faster communication,’_

_‘Refer to page 306, could be related?’_

_‘Check Sung’s guide – ‘From the Shores to the Swells’ - 67’_

_‘Cite for exam – probably going to come up’_

That last note took Zuko by surprise. Exam?

“Hey,” he called out to Zhao, “how long have you had this book?” He held up the volume in his hands, the weight almost felt like it had been made all the more heavy with time.

Zhao looked up and studied the title for a second. “That was from my days in the academy. It made an excellent resource and I still consult it to this day.”

“You wrote here you cited it in your exam,” Zuko turned the book so the pages were facing Zhao.

“Bonus marks if you referred to external sources. That volume helped me achieve the highest grades in my year.”

“Wow,” Zuko flipped through the book, noting the writing that covered nearly the entire expanse of the page in some chapters. “You were such a nerd.”

“Excuse me.”

“Didn’t peg you as the kind to study so hard,” Zuko sniggered, running his finger over one of Zhao’s more in-depth analyses.

“I was an attentive student,” Zhao sniffed primly. “Nothing wrong with that.”

His defensiveness only made Zuko laugh lowly to himself. As he flicked through the book, a folded piece of paper dropped into his lap from where it had been wedged into the pages. Zuko picked it up, unfolding it carefully.

It was a manuscript, written by Zhao.

_‘In light of recent theoretical and practical components recorded by Chung, it is suffice to say that…’_

What a nerd.

He traced the words with the tip of his finger. Zhao’s handwriting was neat, precise, with the style of calligraphy only seen in the upper class of the Fire Nation, yet also carrying the distinct assertiveness of a military commander trained to write quickly in shorthand. It was almost easy picturing a younger Zhao sitting at his desk jotting down what was clearly a critical piece of writing.

“If you’re done speculating over my study habits, I suggest we retire for the night.” Zhao’s derisive drawl jolted Zuko out of his thoughts.

“Sure,” he replied, folding the manuscript up and tucking it back into place. He closed the book and set it down in the corner for him to continue reading some other day.

They snuffed the candles out and lay there, feeling like it was easier to bask in silence than the first few nights, but still not so much that silences were comfortable.

Zuko fidgeted. Zhao sighed.

They shifted every so often, but their nerves were still not at complete ease.

When Zhao sighed for the umpteenth time, Zuko couldn’t resist sarcastically asking, “Do you need me to lull you to sleep again?”

Zhao scoffed. “Bold of you to assume I need you as a sleeping aid.”

“You’ve proven you needed one the first few nights.”

“I won’t deny that,” Zhao chuckled. “It was better than hearing you toss and turn every second or so.”

Zuko harrumphed and pointedly turned onto his side to face the metal wall. “I don’t understand why you antagonize me so much when I did nothing to you.” Zuko muttered, fisting one hand into his pillow.

“I thought you’ve rather enjoyed it the past few days.”

“I meant before. You know, when I was still on the _Wani_.”

“It was just pathetic to see you chasing after a myth for three years after you couldn’t keep your mouth shut in a meeting.” Zhao huffed. “It was a fool’s errand. Everyone could see it except you.”

Zuko flipped over to face Zhao, narrowing his eyes. “Yet you invited yourself on my mission anyway.”

“I like to think of it as an opportunity,” Zhao shrugged. “You do have my congratulations, though. For managing to find a legend in the first place.”

Zuko scowled. But then he registered Zhao’s words. He thought of capturing the Avatar as an opportunity… for what though? He’d already impressed the Fire Lord enough to have been promoted to admiral, it wasn’t as if he had anything to prove. And after his uncle’s embarrassing quizzing of the man from the afternoon, Zhao appeared to uphold his duty to the throne with immense conviction. There wasn’t any need for him to prove his loyalty to the Fire Lord. But was that all there was to it?

“How loyal are you to my father?” The question slipped out before Zuko could filter it in his mind. But Zhao remained unperturbed, and his assessing gaze felt like it was scorching Zuko down to his bare bones. The fact that Zhao did not immediately answer alerted Zuko that a rare, genuine truth was about to spill from a rat-viper’s maw.

The answer came. Two words that held the weight of consideration yet also the lightness of honesty.

“Loyal enough.”

Zuko blinked in shock. He sat up, staring wide-eyed at Zhao.

“That sounds a little… treasonous.” He said carefully.

Zhao sat up as well, gazing back at him boredly. “What does it matter? He offers me positions with power, I get to join his war council for meetings, permission to oversee ambitious campaigns that add glory to my name, and everything I could ever want or need. In return, I carry out his bidding and keep my mouth shut when it needs to be.”

“But would you say your loyalty belongs to my father?”

Zhao stared at him calculatingly, as if debating if he could trust Zuko enough with what he was about to say. It appeared the answer was yes.

“My loyalty belongs to myself first and foremost.” Zhao finally revealed. “I answer to glory.”

Zuko could barely keep the calmness over his face from shattering. “That’s treason.”

“Who’s going to believe a banished prince?”

Zuko didn’t rise to the jab. He’d gotten better at reining in his temper over the time he’d spent with Zhao. As would anyone, for the record. The man had a talent for pushing your buttons, and just when you thought there were none to press anymore, he’d somehow find more hidden away.

“Why would you say something like that to the son of the Fire Lord?”

“Maybe I’m lying. Maybe because nobody would believe you.” Zhao stared him in the eyes. “Maybe we’re kindred spirits.”

“What?” He choked out, the word faint and clogging in his throat like sludge.

“Why are _you_ loyal to the Fire Lord?” Zhao asked softly.

“He’s my father.”

“That doesn’t warrant absolute loyalty.”

“He’s my _father_.” Zuko emphasized. Did Zhao not understand? Blood ties, for the scion of the royal family no less, chained him to his duty. Such as it had been since the beginning of time, such as it will be for the everlasting generations after.

“He burned half your face off.” Zhao said carefully, deliberately.

“It was to teach me a lesson.”

“And how’s that working out for you? Regret speaking up in that war council yet?”

Zuko said nothing. He didn’t need to say anything when Zhao already knew the answer.

To the admiral, trying to work out why the prince was loyal to his father was a lost cause. He stood by what he said before; he didn’t feel one way or the other about the prince’s banishment. But his blatant denial and refusal to acknowledge that Ozai was more a perpetrator than a father irked Zhao. It was frustrating, to stand by and witness his highness claim his sworn fealty to his father despite his obvious disagreements with some – _many_ of his policies. Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t care what foolish notions the prince insisted on believing, but _he_ hardly had the best father in the world, and even he knew that a parent’s love should be unconditional.

_He thought he had it once, a long time ago, with a man who was not his father but who ~~was in every sense and form except for blood~~ misguided Zhao into thinking he was one._

“You told me once, that your father was a fool if he thought the Earth Kingdom would bow down to his rule obediently.” Zhao straightened up, meeting Zuko’s eyes steadily. “Do you still believe that?”

“Yes,” Zuko bowed his head, ashamed.

“So that begs the question, Prince Zuko, _why are you loyal to the Fire Lord?”_

Zuko pressed his lips together, unwilling to confront the answer. Not that he was sure he knew the answer anyway. It had always been easier to not question his father’s orders. To do so always led to punishment.

“You know my allegiance,” Zhao went on, “so trade a secret for a secret. What is it that you really want? Do you have a desire to return to your misconception of a loving father? Or is it simply your honour that you seek?”

Zuko felt like he was watching the scene play out from another’s eyes. He felt detached from his own body, numbing pricks digging into his flesh and leaving vacant nothingness in their wake.

What did he want? He wanted father’s love. But every day spent on the ocean, every day he had been torn away from the palace, every day he’d spent separated and unknowing from news of what little family he had left –

Does Father still look like Father?

An icy wave of realization washed over him. He tried to picture Father, and he could see him; but surrounding his features were blurred outlines and a fuzzy blend of skin and hair and eyes. Was his nose always that sharp? Where did his goatee end? The middle of his neck? His shoulders? Perhaps only a scant inch off his chin?

Was this what he had been desperately trying to return to?

What did he want?

“I just want to go home.” Zuko whispered, voice fragile and on the cusp of breaking. “I just really, really miss home.”

Zhao looked surprisingly understanding. “So you’ll capture the Avatar and return home, then. It’s just a matter of weeks from now.”

“I haven’t been home in so long,” Zuko muttered, drawing circles into his knees with his thumb. “I wonder how much changed.”

Zhao blinked slowly at him. “I was in the capital a few months ago,” he started, his voice a quiet, soothing murmur. “To discuss the expedition. It hasn’t changed much in the time you’ve been gone.”

“Really?” Zuko asked, sounding small and hopeful.

“You’re not missing anything,” Zhao assured. “The biggest change I guess would be the new sculptures and portraits of your father plastered on every wall and street.”

“How…” Zuko hesitated, “how is my father?”

“Unchanged. Still very much the same as you remember him, I suppose.”

Zuko’s memories of his father were few and fleeting to begin with, despite the graphic sensations and feelings that came attached to them, but he wasn’t about to tell Zhao that. He paused at the next question that perched on his lips, but let it slip out all the same.

“And… and Azula?”

“A most charming girl,” Zhao snorted sarcastically. “She only threatened to burn the servants, oh, maybe twenty times within ten minutes?”

Zuko bit his lip, lowering downcast eyes towards his lap. Zhao marvelled at how different the siblings’ dispositions were to each other. Where Zuko burned with emotion, Azula was frigid with indifference.

“She is becoming more and more like your father by the day.” Zhao offered, unsure what else to say about the young princess. “I hear she’s nearly mastered the cold fire.”

“Really?” Zuko asked, unable to conceal his bitterness. Of course she would. A prodigy in every way, and no doubt already a firebending master.

“Yes, and already stored it in her repertoire of threats. Your father could not be prouder.”

Another stab of jealousy panged Zuko. Azula would never have ended up in the same situation he was in. She was too good, too perfect, too smart and cunning and everything Zuko wasn’t. There was nothing she could do to make Father even fathom sending her away.

“Good for her.” He muttered, in lieu of accidentally letting slip anything to betray his frustration. Zhao sighed, sensing another turn in the prince’s mood. 

_‘Not again,’_ he lamented to himself, _‘I don’t want to be responsible for cheering him up.’_

“The Fire Lord ordered another purge of the libraries and bookstores,” he swiftly changed the subject, “he felt the need to ferret out novels or the like that spoke out against warfare. A bit of a shame, even some harmless novels weren’t spared.”

The prince wilted.

_‘Ah, shit. Well done, you’re really great at this whole comfort thing.’_ Zhao inwardly cursed. But then a sudden thought flashed through his mind, a memory he’d almost forgotten, barely clinging to the recesses of his mind. A small detail he’d resolved to never disclose. But if it helped now…

“I managed to rescue some of the literature,” Zhao blabbered, “it wasn’t much; a few scrolls detailing philosophies around the world. But I managed to nab them before they were rooted out.”

He had his own thirst and fascination for knowledge to thank for that. Any loyalist would’ve turned in those precious scrolls to the correct authorities, but they were _limited edition_. Zhao had never been able to resist the call of records from other cultures, even if they were from the inferior parts of the world. They were already hard enough to come by. So he’d succumbed, sneaking them into his bag and leaving the appropriate amount of coin on the shelves they sat on, slipping out before the shopkeeper could memorize his face.

Not that the shopkeeper seemed likely to notice. The old woman had been sitting with a Pai Sho board, idly fiddling with the tiles. He didn’t know what it was about them that fascinated her so much; there wasn’t even another player to entertain her.

_(There was also the fact he’d thought he caught the barest traces of a smile on her weathered face when he stole out of the shop with a protective hand barely hovering over the spot in his bag where the scrolls lay, but that could easily have been his overactive imagination playing tricks on him.)_

It seemed it was the right thing to reveal this fact to Zuko though, seeing as how his face brightened immediately at the news.

“You did? Where are they now?”

“I hid them at home.”

“You’re not worried someone in your family would find them?”

“I moved out to my own place. Couldn’t take life at home anymore.”

“Oh.” Zuko stuttered, unsure how to proceed. “Uh, sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad I moved out.”

Curiosity burned within Zuko’s chest. “Do you… do you have a bad relationship with your family?”

Zhao mulled the question over, uncertain if he should answer. “It’s not – it’s not the best.” He finally admitted, “I guess the simplest way to put it would be that I outgrew them.”

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” Zuko whispered, staring at his knees. “I don’t know what I’d do without Uncle.”

“I like my solitude,” Zhao shrugged uncaringly, “they never truly took an interest in me outside of my education and career to be honest. And even then, it was only to either criticize me or keep pushing me forwards.”

“Sounds like my father,” the words sidled out before Zuko could even think about it. His eyes widened at the same time as Zhao’s, who stared at him disbelievingly.

“Did I hear that right? You criticizing your father?”

“No! No, I just –” Zuko flushed, “I don’t know what came over me. It’s nothing, it was a slip of the tongue.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Zhao retorted, “honestly, it’s about time you stopped this blind worship of your father.”

“It’s not blind worship –”

“He _burned your face off_.”

Zuko shut his mouth.

“Uncle never talked to me this way,” he couldn’t help muttering petulantly.

“He wishes to shelter you from the truth. An admirable sentiment, but a foolish notion nonetheless.”

“He does tend to have a gentler way with words,” Zuko admitted.

“Although you can’t mean to tell me your uncle never said anything incriminating about your father? I bet you pushed him away and sulked for days if he said anything remotely negative.” Zhao raised an eyebrow knowingly.

Zuko fell silent. How did he know? Was he that obvious? Did Uncle tell him?

He must’ve been quiet for too long if Zhao picked up on it.

“Sorry,” Zhao apologized awkwardly, “I pushed my boundaries again, didn’t I?”

“No, you’re right.” Zuko confessed, ashamed but unable to bring himself to deny it. “I did lose my temper with him. But he just – he just always had such a roundabout way to say things like that and it always annoyed me, and it didn’t help that he was broaching a ‘sensitive topic’ or whatever he calls it.”

“I’m not exactly sugar-coating my words, but you seem fine.” Zhao pointed out.

“Maybe that’s what I need.” Zuko muttered diminutively. “I grew up with bluntness; it’s familiar to me. I don’t get subtleties like Azula does.”

“Subtleties do get exhausting after a while,” Zhao agreed. “but they are necessary.”

Zuko looked down miserably. Necessary, yes, but terribly difficult to grasp. At least, for him. That was a source of great shame for his father, whose mood would worsen by the minute as Zuko attempted to fumble through a conversation with a high-ranking politician or someone of nobility. Azula was able to speak circles around anybody shoved in front of her, unfaltering and flawless in both speech and manner.

But thinking about it too hard always made Zuko spiral into deep self-loathing. He desperately needed a change of subject. Now.

“Does um… does the capital still hold that annual spice festival?” He blurted out, reaching for the first subject that came to mind when thinking about his homeland.

“Hm? Oh yes. That hasn’t changed. Same old same old, you know. You haven’t missed out on any big changes there.”

Zuko bit his lip. “It’s not really the big changes I’m worried about.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Curiosity shone in Zhao’s eyes.

“It’s kind of dumb, but I really miss fire flakes.”

“Fire flakes?”

“Yeah, cook would make them sometimes, but they never tasted right. It was always missing one or two spices. One of them was always black ash pepper. You can only get that from the mainland and we could never find them in any of the colonies or outposts.”

“I never would have thought it’d be fire flakes that you’d miss over all your royal finery back in the palace.”

Zuko laughed, only a few small huffs of air, but it felt infinitely lighter than anything he’d said the entire night. “Sometimes it’s the small things you miss more,” he said softly, “like fire flakes, or walking along the beach on Ember Island, or turtleduck ponds.”

“I don’t know much about any of that,” Zhao chuckled in reply, “but I can agree with the sentiment. I’m all for big gestures and drama, but admittedly I don’t often give the small things in life their due appreciation.”

“What do you miss?” Zuko asked curiously.

“I can’t think of many things off the top of my head,” Zhao frowned, “although I guess… Kazaki Library would be one of them.”

“Kazaki Library?” Zuko asked.

“It’s on Einko Island, situated on a cliff overlooking the entire bay area. One of the better libraries in the Fire Nation; their collection of scrolls and books are almost unrivalled. At night, they open up the balcony and bring out telescopes for you to use. Best place for stargazing,” he sighed nostalgically. “A hidden gem, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Sounds fun.” Zuko said earnestly. “I’ve never gone anywhere in the Fire Nation to stargaze. I only learned about constellations and stuff when I was on the _Wani_.”

“You’re missing out.” Zhao looked at him consideringly. “When this is all over, I could take you there if you’d like.”

“You’d do that?” A spark of cautious excitement lit itself in Zuko’s chest. He hadn’t been taken any trips outside the capital since – well, since Mother and Lu Ten were gone. Uncle hadn’t been in the mood to venture beyond the marketplace and Azula claimed family trips were childish. To even ask Father was out of the question.

“If you can weasel your way out of the palace.” Zhao smirked. “But sure, it’s only a few hours out from Caldera. Easy sailing, too. There’s a teashop on the island that boasts an extremely formidable collection of fine teas. I bet your uncle could lose himself in there.”

“That sounds fun,” Zuko smiled. It was an earnest thing and it felt almost foreign on his face. “You realize I’ll hold you to your promise?”

“Go for it. It would be nice to discuss constellations with someone who actually knows something about them for a change.”

The smile on Zuko’s face grew. Strange, how only a relatively short amount of time spent with this man had wildly altered his original perception of him.

And maybe it wouldn’t hurt to voice it aloud.

“You know, you’re not so bad after all.”

Zhao squinted at him. “… Is that some sort of backhanded compliment?”

Never mind. He was still irritating.

“No, it’s just an observation.”

Zhao thought it over. It was a refreshing change of pace, he supposed. To his old comrades, he was never the first pick to joke around with, nor to pull a prank on (they tried once, he made sure there was never a second time). To his subordinates, he was a ruthless leader not to be trifled with. To the traitor Jeong Jeong the Deserter, he was nothing more than a monster. Or apparently, a _savage._

_Savage._

You’d think the once-great Jeong Jeong would show more gratefulness considering it was _Zhao_ who had –

No. He’d put it all behind him. He refused to think about it anymore.

“… Thanks, I guess.”

The furthest from the most articulate thing that ever came out of his mouth, yet the most genuine in a long time. The words almost got stuck along his throat, but somehow it felt wrong to choke them down. At least he wasn’t the only one feeling awkward - Zuko coughed slightly, looking away.

“Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Zhao murmured back.

They settled into amiable silence, with nothing more than the sound of gently lapping waves lulling them to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zhao's slowly learning how to be less of an asshole. I'm so proud of him.


	9. Your Fire and Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes fire isn't just about destruction. It can bring people together as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure self-indulgence before some upcoming heavier stuff. This chapter was pretty hard to write but I'm not sure why. However, it is a feel-good chapter so I hope you guys like a bit of softness between these two dunderheads.
> 
> Also I've got a tentative total chapter count of 25. Not confirmed, but I thought I'd update y'all on the situation :)

“I’ve convinced Captain Ito into playing a few rounds of Pai Sho with me,” Uncle announced gleefully to Zuko after breakfast. A few moments ago, Zhao had offhandedly mentioned something about needing to attend to a situation so would take a few minutes before he came back to collect Zuko.

The prince certainly wasn’t complaining. He’d missed spending time with his uncle without Zhao hovering incessantly over his shoulder.

“Did he willingly agree?” Zuko asked. Iroh chortled, pressing a hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“Nephew, you wound me! Captain Ito was more than willing to play. Do you know of him? He is one of the senior captains and a wise one at that. It pleased me to hear that he enjoyed a good game of Pai So to sharpen his strategizing skills. I’ve told you many times, Nephew, that sometimes all it takes to cultivate your planning ability is an engaging game with a decent opponent.”

“Right, yes.” Zuko sighed. “I just thought you’d have gotten your fill of Pai Sho yesterday when you played with Zhao. You played _eight_ rounds, Uncle. Zhao looked ready to throw the board against the wall.”

Iroh laughed heartily again. “I suppose he did get a little impatient near the end. Still, he made an excellent opponent, although his strategies were certainly rather aggressive.”

“He did beat you once, Uncle.”

“He invoked the sacrilegious technique of using roast duck to get behind my defences,” Iroh turned his nose up. “An underhanded tactic.”

“He’s an underhanded person.”

Iroh looked like he wanted to continue along the same vein when he paused and put down his cup, staring at Zuko with gentle eyes.

“Nephew, have you encountered any problems with Zhao? He can be a bit… abrasive. I only hope you haven’t been harmed.”

“No, Uncle.” Zuko fidgeted uncomfortably under the weight of Iroh’s stare. “We had some… disagreements, but he hasn’t done anything to warrant concern.”

Iroh searched Zuko’s face carefully before nodding slowly. “Perhaps this close proximity was beneficial all along. You could do with spending more time with your peers; and so does Zhao.”

“We’re not friends… but we’re not enemies, either. I think.” Zuko peered into his teacup thoughtfully. A part of him wanted to ask – plead – beg – whatever – Iroh if he agreed with what Zhao said last night. If he had truly misplaced his loyalty in a man who had burned and shunned him, if Father’s love was conditional, if even Azula would be cast aside if she could not bend.

But just as quickly as the thought arose, he squashed it back down again. They didn’t have time for this. Uncle would only relay another series of proverbs. Uncle would doubt his loyalty to the Fire Nation.

Zuko would be afraid of the answer.

So instead, he said, “The daifuku was really good yesterday, wasn’t it?”

Iroh opened his mouth to respond but the admiral chose that moment to re-enter the room, clutching a small stack of documents in his hands. He then neatly separated the top half from the stack and passed it over to Iroh.

“General Iroh, it would be most helpful if you reviewed these notes in preparation for the war council tomorrow. I’ll need your insight for the proposed mobilization plans for the ground troops. If you have any urgent questions, you’ll need to send correspondence to Commander Yuka.”

“Of course, of course.” Iroh said amenably. “I’ll be off then, see you boys at dinner.”

“Bye, Uncle.” Zuko called after Iroh’s figure as he trundled his way out the door. Zhao simply dipped his head in farewell.

“Time for us to go too,” Zhao nodded his head towards the corridor. Zuko got up from his seat and obediently followed after him, but they had only made it a few steps towards the door when Zhao suddenly stopped.

“Ah, I nearly forgot.” He untucked a small bag hanging off his belt and shoved it in Zuko’s hands. “Here.”

Zuko blinked down at the bag in confusion. “What is it?”

It was rather hefty for its size and the opening was neatly tied closed with a drawstring. He undid it, and steam immediately curled upwards, carrying with it the smell of a familiar amalgam of spices that permeated the air.

“Fire flakes?” Zuko exclaimed in delight, staring up at Zhao with wide eyes. He reached into the bag reverently, grabbing a small handful and popping them into his mouth.

The burst of spices filled his senses and he was instantly transported back to the days where Lu Ten would drag him out to festivals and they would track down the vendor who sold the hottest fire flakes and buy the largest serving size to share _and it tasted exactly like this_ while they fanned their tongues with tears welling up in their eyes _–_

Zhao smirked. “I take it you like it?”

“It tastes exactly like the fire flakes back home,” Zuko blinked back the nostalgia. It had all the spices needed, including the coveted black ash pepper they’d never managed to find in any colony or trading port.

The cook clearly did not hold back on the spices either. That was how Zuko preferred it though; the spicier the better. And these ones would have most spice lovers running for the hills. Zuko cleared his throat to clear the slight itch in his throat. “Thanks, you didn’t have to.”

Zhao shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, they’re just fire flakes.”

“It means a lot to me.” Zuko refuted, taking another handful. He glanced up at the man hesitantly. “… Do you want some?”

“I got them for you,” Zhao replied, puzzled.

Zuko rolled his eyes. “Ever heard of sharing?”

“Don’t sass me. I fed you.” Zhao plucked out a couple fire flakes anyway. He chewed them critically and nodded his satisfaction, grabbing a handful the second time round. “The cook made this batch much spicier than he used to. He was too light on the chili before; it was barely a tingle on the tongue.”

Zuko was pretty sure most spice lovers wouldn’t be able to tolerate what they were both downing with relative ease. Then again, it shouldn’t surprise him that Zhao was as big a fan of spice as he was. Just earlier this morning Iroh had watched on in horror as between him and Zhao, they emptied an entire bottle of hot sauce into their respective bowls of noodles.

_“How could you enjoy the subtle underlying flavours of the broth if you’ve covered the entire thing in hot sauce?” Iroh had asked, aghast._

_“Uncle, you say this every time we have noodles,” Zuko groaned. Zhao shrugged, mixing the sauce evenly throughout his bowl._

_“A little extra heat never hurt anyone.” He offered impassively. Iroh threw his hands up in exasperation._

_“Young man, I don’t think you understand the meaning of ‘little’. Not to mention that the broth is already spicy!”_

_Zhao smirked mischievously. “I just happen to like my food on the spicy side. Could you pass the chili flakes?”_

_Zuko took a little too much delight in Iroh’s bug-eyed, gawping expression._

“Thanks,” Zuko repeated, snapping out of his reverie. “For giving me a piece of home.”

Zhao shrugged, looking the slightest bit uncomfortable with the gratitude, as if he didn’t know what to do with it. “The elite firebenders are running through the advanced sets soon,” Zhao changed the subject, “you may join them if you wish.”

Zuko’s first instinct was to bristle at the insult, before he realized that the admiral genuinely had no idea where he was in his firebending training.

Evidently, he paused for too long when Zhao took notice.

“Something wrong?”

“My… my uncle hasn’t taught me all of the advanced forms yet.” Zuko admitted with a harsh, frustrated exhale.

“Really?” Zhao’s eyebrows raised, a rare expression of surprise crossing his face.

“He kept saying I wasn’t ready.” Zuko huffed, trying not to pout. Zhao looked out of a porthole, a far-off look in his gaze.

“That’s what my old teacher said to me too.” He murmured. Zuko blinked in surprise.

“What?”

Zhao elaborated with a derisive scoff to his tone. “I used to be under the tutelage of Jeong Jeong the Deserter. He taught me all the way up to the second set of advanced forms but refused to teach me anything beyond that. Said I needed to learn discipline and self-restraint.” He scowled. “Foolish old man always refused to focus on what really mattered in war.”

Zuko asked, confused, “How did you gain your mastery then?”

“I left Jeong Jeong’s tutelage after it became clear he wasn’t going to budge on his stance. Admiral Shu took a liking to me and agreed to oversee the rest of my training. He didn’t hesitate to instruct me through the rest of the advanced set when I asked.” Zhao walked up to the porthole, glaring daggers out into the ocean before twisting back on his heel and striding down the length of the room again.

Zuko fumbled with his fingers, feeling the need to expand on his own explanation as his eyes followed Zhao’s patrol. “Uncle said he would teach me, but he still has me on breathing exercises.”

“Would you still learn the advanced set given the opportunity?”

“Of course,” Zuko replied incredulously. Why wouldn’t he? “I need to be prepared to face the Avatar.”

Zhao stopped his pacing, turning on his heel to level a serious gaze at him. “I could teach you if you’d like.”

The prince straightened, a jumble of suspicion, disbelief, and eagerness barely concealed over his face. “What? Are you serious?”

Zhao bit back an amused huff of laughter. “Sure, why not?”

The beginnings of a pout crawled across the prince’s mouth. “But Uncle says I’m not ready.”

Again with the Uncle and need for parental permission. Sheesh, Zhao had been sneaking out to brawl other quick-tempered aspiring soldiers in the academy’s gymnasium when he was his age. “I’ll be the judge of that. Do you want me to teach you or not?”

“I – well, yes, of course! But…” Zuko hesitated, “what made you offer?”

Zhao sighed. “My old teacher refused to even show me the theory. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to achieve mastery if someone didn’t take a chance on me. I imagine it’s much the same for you.”

“Okay,” Zuko replied simply, heart feeling warm. Someone taking a chance on him. He’d never had that with any of his firebending instructors. They’d all sighed and shook their heads, clicking their tongues and lamenting how he couldn’t grasp even the simplest forms and how they so wished it was _Azula_ they were instructing at that moment.

Father never gave him a chance.

Grandfather never gave him a chance.

Azula took all his chances.

But here was someone who was a master in their own right, who had clawed their way up the ranks and established a reputation that was widespread throughout the entire military of the Fire Nation, who, as Zuko had slowly found out over the past few weeks, was similar to him in more ways than he’d ever thought possible. This person was standing back and letting Zuko take the opportunity to prove there was more behind him than his family would like everyone to think.

It didn’t even matter that Zuko had already beaten him in an Agni Kai before. The fact still remained that Zhao had officially attained his mastery whilst Zuko had not. And to do that, Zuko needed to learn the advanced set.

Funny, how the first person to give him a chance outside of his Uncle in years was _Zhao_ of all people.

“When do we start?” Zuko asked, trying not to let his eagerness shine through too much.

“Right now.” Zhao replied without preamble, opening the door.

“Let’s go, then.” Zuko smiled up at the other man, unable to hide the burst of giddiness. It was a smile he reserved for things like his Uncle bringing him information about the Avatar (that was actually useful), or finding a new, interesting play to read, or getting to spend time alone with animals without anyone around to judge him. And now? Revealing that little personal piece of himself to Zhao felt like a small price to pay for the man’s offer.

This was a chance to lessen the gap between him and Azula (and maybe, just maybe, impress his father), and he was not going to waste any time squandering it. He slid the helmet over his head and headed out the cabin with a spring in his step.

Meanwhile, Zhao was reeling over the fact the prince had directed a smile that radiated as much warmth as Agni himself at _him_ of all people. Nobody had ever looked at him like that before. Nobody had ever smiled at Zhao like he had brought happiness in droves to their life. Rather, it was usually the opposite.

His heart thumped against his chest briefly.

Ugh.

Maybe he’d caught something lately.

* * *

“Your stance needs to be lower,” Zhao placed his hands on Zuko’s shoulders, pushing down firmly. “There, now keep your feet planted squarely. This is a move for both defence and offense. You must not waver; to do so would break your root. And if you break your root, you can’t follow up with a counterattack.”

“Alright,” Zuko grit his teeth impatiently. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.”

“Hold steady,” Zhao reminded him, backing up a few steps before firing a blast at him. Zuko blocked, but overturned on his foot as he shifted sideways to launch a retaliatory attack. His fireball flew astray, missing Zhao by a few inches. The admiral didn’t even attempt to dissipate the jet of fire.

“ARGH! I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” Zuko yelled in frustration, throwing a wayward blast wildly. Zhao deflected it with an almost dismissive wave of his hand and wandered closer again.

“Run it through cold,” he commanded, folding his arms. Zuko obeyed, conscious of the heavy weight of Zhao’s stare critically appraising his every move. When he finished, Zhao uncrossed his arms and moved behind him.

“You need to draw your arms more closely to your body,” Zhao said, grabbing Zuko’s arms and folding them securely. “See? Keep your elbows aligned with your sides. Make sure they’re straight. The reason why your fire goes off course is because your elbow is pointing too much outwards as you’re pivoting.”

He placed one hand on Zuko’s waist to keep him in place and used the other to guide his arm into the strike. “Notice the difference? This kata is more difficult because it doesn’t require the free movement of most katas. It needs grounded stability and small, precise movements.”

Zhao let go, and Zuko tried to brush off the lingering warmth from where he had placed his hands. “Less is more, sometimes.” Zhao instructed, coming back round to stand in front of him.

“Okay,” Zuko breathed. “Alright, let me try it again.”

“Elbows in,” Zhao prompted, before spinning on the spot and firing again.

Zuko dissipated the blast, shifted his footing and launched an attack back. Zhao battered it away and hummed in approval.

“Not bad. Tighten up your stance a little and you’ll have it down to pat.”

Zuko let out a sigh of relief and relaxed his stance. It had not been easy. They’d been at it for what felt like hours and this was only the first part of the form Zhao had guided him through. Azula would’ve gotten it down cold within the first three tries without breaking a sweat like she did with every kata shown to her.

“I don’t get what I’m doing wrong,” Zuko muttered, flexing his fingers. “Everyone in my family is a prodigy except… me.” He stared down at his hands as if they held the answer.

Zuko heard footsteps approach and a warm presence reach out to adjust his stance, guiding him back into the first advanced form before letting go.

“I’ve noticed you don’t tend to bend in a traditional sense.” Zhao frowned, eyeing his stance analytically.

“What do you mean?”

“Fire Lord Sozin built upon the old styles of bending in order to incorporate aggression and fast strikes to overwhelm the enemy. It became very offensive-based bending, designed for quick, brutal fights.” He paused, furrowing his brows in thought. “Show me that move again; the one you…” Zhao looked like he was trying very hard not to combust on the spot as he finished, “… used in our Agni Kai to knock me to the ground.”

Mystified, Zuko obeyed, dropping to the floor and spinning on his hands to let his legs lash out in circular motions. Zhao made a sound of affirmation.

“Did you make that move up yourself?”

“I guess?” Zuko replied, cocking his head to the side. “It wasn’t shown to me by anyone.”

“Interesting.” Zhao hummed again. “What other moves did you make up yourself?”

Zuko thought for a few moments, before producing his signature flame daggers. Zhao reached over, gently grabbing one of his wrists and raising it to examine it more carefully.

“How long ago did you figure out how to do this?”

“I guess… two years ago?”

“And what inspired you to create this technique?”

“I liked swords, knives and daggers,” Zuko shrugged. “I figured I may as well try to combine them.”

“How long did it take?”

“Not long. A few weeks.” Zuko wondered where this interrogation was going.

Zhao released his wrist and eyed him appraisingly. “You don’t have as easy a grasp on Sozin’s style like your sister, no, but… quite a few of your moves are creative, to say the least.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that you not being able to master Sozin’s style as quickly as the rest of your family isn’t as deprecating as you believe if you are able to create entirely new techniques all on your own.”

“Most of them were just me experimenting for fun, though.” Zuko summoned another dagger in his hand before letting it fizzle out into sparks.

“It’s advantageous. You’ll have the element of surprise; something quite invaluable in battle.”

“The element of surprise?” Zuko murmured contemplatively.

“Most conventional benders won’t expect you to pull fire knives out of your ass.” Zhao retorted drily. He paused. “… Figuratively.”

“But if you’re asking me to make up moves for combat right now, I wouldn’t know where to start.” Zuko stared back down at his hands.

“Bringing in your skill from sword fighting could be a start,” Zhao suggested. “You combined fire with daggers. Who’s to say you can’t borrow stances and recombine them with katas?” 

“Uncle did always say to draw knowledge from other sources.” Zuko pondered thoughtfully.

“He’d be right about that. At least, in the combat sense.”

“Are you saying you do that too?”

“Where did you think I learned earthbending style blocks?” Zhao demonstrated the same move from their Agni Kai; the one he used to dispel Zuko’s fireballs. “It worked against you, didn’t it? The perks of engaging earthbenders in battle. Firebending is largely offensive – there’s hardly room for any serious defence. I capitalized on our enemies and worked something out to my advantage.”

Zuko did find that particular block Zhao used to fend off his blasts rather peculiar, but he had no idea it had been borrowed from earthbenders. “We’ve always been taught that the other nations were inferior though, why should our bending be influenced by them?”

“It’s true that fire is the superior element,” Zhao shrugged, “but it’s undeniable that there’s always something you can pick up from other sources.”

“What do you suggest I do, then?”

“It’s up to you,” Zhao snapped a lick of flame to life in his palm and stared into it. “You can continue exploring your own techniques or try Sozin’s style again.” He snuffed out the flame. “Whatever you think will be most advantageous to you, I suppose.”

Zuko frowned at the reply. He did find extreme satisfaction when he masters a technique of his own making, but it required time and countless attempts to fine tune it to the point where he can use it in battle. And there was also the pressing matter that Father would wish for him to master the standard firebending forms, just like Azula must have by now.

“I want to keep going with the advanced forms.” He announced firmly to Zhao.

The admiral nodded and slid into the beginning stance to demonstrate the rest of the kata. He ran it through cold with Zuko several times, but it was evident the prince was having an equally hard time with it like he did with the first half.

“Keep your weight distributed in one leg. And you still want to make sure your elbows are tucked in tightly against your sides.” Zhao reached out, gently adjusting the prince’s form.

“Okay,” Zuko sighed, redistributing his weight. The light grazes Zhao used to guide him were a stark contrast to how he remembered the firebending instructors back in the palace ever taught him. He’d been half-expecting Zhao to use the same acerbic remarks and harsh grabs to push him into the correct stance, but was pleasantly surprised to receive none.

And he allowed Zuko to keep running through the forms as many times as he wanted to get used to the movements without impatiently glowering at him to hurry up and get it right so they could move on to the next form.

At least, until finally Zhao forced Zuko to sit down and take a breather.

“Pure, asinine stubbornness,” Zhao tutted, one second away from sitting on top of the prince so he’d listen for once in his miserable life. “If you didn’t get it right the first hundred times, you’re not going to get it right using the same damn technique you’ve been using every single time.”

“Just let me try it one more time –”

“You’re burning yourself out. Sit still for a minute and let your chi regather their strength.”

Zuko sighed and scrubbed a hand against his eyes in weariness. “And then I try again?”

Honestly? It was well past noon and Zhao was hungry. So no, he didn’t feel like watching the prince perform the same kata again and again just to make the same mistakes _again and again_.

But the prince wanted training and Zhao wanted food. Maybe there was a way for both of them to get what they wanted.

“You know what? I think it’s time to try out a new training exercise. Wait here for me, I won’t be long.”

Zuko barely managed to say half a word of agreement before Zhao disappeared through the door in a flash. He sighed, unsteadily getting back up and going through some stretches to cool down from the intensive training he’d just forced his body to undergo.

He could now unfortunately somewhat understand why Uncle wanted him to wait before he was taught the advanced forms. It was definitely a step up from the intermediate forms; demanding him to bring in everything he’d learned from before to execute into a series of moves.

The door cracked open again and a black blur flew at Zuko’s face –

His hand shot up, lightning fast as he reflexively caught it just before it clocked him. Zuko released the breath he’d drawn in a panic and inspected the object that had come perilously close to conking him on the head.

A sweet potato.

What?

Zhao entered the room looking extremely pleased with himself as he cradled an armful of sweet potatoes in his arms.

“… Why did you throw a sweet potato at my head? And why are you holding sweet potatoes?”

“I was making sure your reflexes were still sharp,” Zhao sat down and dropped his precious cargo on the ground in front of him. “You’re welcome.”

Zuko wanted to argue, but his confusion took precedence. “Alright, what’s with the sweet potatoes?”

“A training exercise,” Zhao selected a short, plump one and tossed it in the air, catching it with one hand. “Call it honing your control over fire.”

Zuko warily sat down opposite Zhao with the sweet potato pile in between them, still holding the one Zhao had chucked at his head.

“You’ve been straining your inner fire for the past few hours. It’s time to let it rejuvenate and slowly warm up again. So grab your sweet potato and cook it through.” Zhao let a few tiny streams of fire to trickle over the sweet potato in his hands before clasping it tightly, hands glowing with warmth. “You need to let the heat flow evenly through it if you want a perfectly cooked sweet potato. Too little heat and you’ll end up with raw parts. Too much heat, and you get burnt parts.”

“Why sweet potatoes?”

Zhao seemed to falter at the question for a second before he recovered and primly stated, “Sweet potatoes come in all shapes and sizes. It’s a challenge for you to regulate how much, how long, and where you’re directing the heat.”

“Oh,” Zuko nodded. “That makes sense.”

He eyed the sweet potato in his hands carefully. Medium-sized, kind of tapered at one end and thickest in the middle. Okay, he can work with this.

He took a deep breath, letting the heat brimming underneath his palms to traverse across the root vegetable in his hands. More heat needed to be focused in the middle, and less of it at the ends. He pumped a little more strength into it, urging the heat to permeate through the entirety of the sweet potato.

It was harder than he thought, but it was certainly more interesting than the leaf burning exercises his uncle sometimes made him do.

After a while, Zhao carefully unfurled his hands, letting the scent of roasted sweet potato to diffuse into the air. Zuko watched as he peeled away the skin and broke it apart, humming in satisfaction at the perfectly cooked golden middle.

Zuko released his own grip on his sweet potato, copying the older man’s movements and checking the inside. It had cooked through evenly, much to Zuko’s relief. And now that he could smell the sugary, almost caramelized scent, he realized he was rather famished.

He glanced up at Zhao, a query for permission to eat his training exercise already perched on his lips…

Only to see Zhao was already halfway finished with his own sweet potato.

Guess that answered his question.

Zuko got to work on his, peeling the skin and revealing more of the steaming, golden flesh. It was sweet and soft, not fibrous at all. Just as good as the squash from a while ago…

Wait.

“I thought you hated squash?” Zuko asked around a mouthful.

“I do.”

“But you like sweet potato?”

“Yes.”

“They taste pretty much the same!”

“No, they don’t.”

“Yes, they do!” Zuko exclaimed incredulously. The sweet potato was a tad sweeter, sure, but the texture and the flavour were practically identical.

“No,” Zhao said, taking another bite as if to mock Zuko. “They don’t.”

“They even look the same on the inside!”

Zhao examined the last of his sweet potato critically. “Well, _we_ probably look the same on the inside but we’re entirely different people.”

“What? Why are you comparing you and I to squash and sweet potato? That’s not even a good analogy.”

Zhao nodded gravely. “I know. You’d make a terrible sweet potato.”

“That’s not the point! And are you saying _you’d_ be a better sweet potato?”

“It is the superior of the two, so yes.” Not an inkling of jest could be detected on Zhao’s face.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Zuko spluttered, struggling to believe that any of this was real. Was there something in the sweet potato? Was he having a delusion from exhaustion?

“Then accept I like sweet potato but don’t like squash. It’s not that hard.”

Zuko shook his head. It was better to let this go than it was attempting to make sense of Zhao’s inane logic.

“I still don’t get why we needed to use sweet potatoes –” Zuko’s eyes widened with realization. “YOU WERE JUST HUNGRY!” He shouted, pointing a finger at Zhao’s face in accusation.

… Who did not look at all bothered by Zuko’s indignance. “And you needed training. Is there a problem?”

“So the whole thing about making it a challenge because no two sweet potatoes were the same –”

“Oh,” Zhao failed to hide a smirk. “I thought that was quite wise on my part, don’t you think?”

“You are unbelievable.” Zuko sighed, at a loss for words. Zhao only snickered and picked up another sweet potato to roast. It did feel good to talk circles around the prince with absolute nonsense. Maybe that was why Iroh loved spouting proverbs around his nephew. His reactions were just so entertaining.

(It only occurred to Zhao later that he had neglected the opportunity to study the prince’s weaknesses).

* * *

Zhao’s eyes were moving intently across the scrolls sprawled over the desk, pausing every so often to scrawl a quick note on a piece of paper. Finally, he placed the brush back in its rack with finality, leaning back against his chair as he stretched out his arms.

Nightfall had been upon them for roughly two hours now. There wasn’t much to do. Dinner had long concluded, all documents that needed reading over and signing were taken care of. He’d already prepared for tomorrow’s meeting and the itinerary for the next few days were already drawn up. He rested his chin in his hands as he gazed out the porthole. It was late enough that the stars glimmered in the night sky brightly, but not yet late enough to go to sleep.

Zuko glanced up from where he was reading on the bed, as if sensing Zhao’s boredom.

“All done?”

“Mm.” Zhao hummed back in affirmation. He turned to look at Zuko over his shoulder. “The night is still young.” He hesitated for a beat, “… Join me for a walk?”

“Sure.”

It was nice, Zhao supposed, to have company every so often. The prince had proved himself to be a surprisingly amiable companion. That is, so long as sensitive topics aren’t broached. He felt a touch of pride for getting progressively better at navigating which of Zuko’s buttons he could press without a serious tantrum being thrown. Huh, he’d never thought he would ever say that.

But here they were, out on the upper deck having strolled the perimeter a few times, looking up at the sky while leaning against the railing. Zuko had risked taking his helmet off, which Zhao didn’t object to. Nobody came up here at this time of night anyway, the risk of anyone spotting the prince was miniscule.

They were standing in comfortable silence when Zhao noticed Zuko forming small shapes with fire in the corner of his eye.

“What are you doing?” He asked, bemused.

“Just some tricks I picked up from magicians and fire dancers.” Zuko replied, busy concentrating on forming fine details on the snake-looking blob in his hands. After a few seconds, Zhao was able to discern what the prince had been working on.

The dragon coiled up from Zuko’s palm, serpentine in its movement, slithering fluidly through the air, leaving wisps of trailing flames in its wake.

“I didn’t know you learned the art of fire shaping.” Zhao remarked, begrudgingly transfixed by the dragon flying through the air. It reminded him of better times, when his father would still tuck him into bed and read him stories of dragons and adventure by candlelight.

But like all good things, it had come to an end as he grew older and his father more distant.

A painful twinge lanced through his chest. It was a wound that had never healed over. Not completely. It flared up occasionally if he saw something that reminded him of a life with a father who’d ruffle his hair, subtly adjust his sleeve cuffs, and call him ‘rascal’ with a fond, gravelly voice.

“I always liked watching their performances,” Zuko admitted. “I couldn’t exactly go up and ask them to teach me, so I just watched their shows and kind of figured it out myself.”

“Just like that?” Zhao asked incredulously. Zuko didn’t seem to sense anything was amiss, even as he casually confessed to mimicking a form of firebending that was on the opposite side of the spectrum of what typical firebenders were taught.

“Yeah. You wanna try it?”

“Why would I bother learning such a useless skill?” Zhao scoffed dismissively.

“It’s just for fun.” Zuko replied defensively. “Fire is fuelled by anger, but sometimes when you don’t have any or can’t be bothered conjuring it up, this is a nice way to… I dunno, I guess relax.”

“But there’s no use to it.” Zhao protested.

“Not all bending _needs_ to be about fighting. And it actually requires a lot of fine control.”

“My old teacher always ragged on me for not having restraint.” Zhao couldn’t help bitterly muttering.

“Prove him wrong then. Give it a try. And… I guess it could be my way of paying you back for the firebending lesson from earlier.”

Well, Zhao did have a certain love for proving people wrong. And Jeong Jeong always loved harping on about his lack of control. That was a thing that had never changed, even since the last time he saw him standing on the riverbank. Still the same decrepit old man with a superiority complex. Seeing him again roused feelings that he’d sworn he stamped out years ago _~~(betrayal, betrayal, how could he turn his back on me, wasn’t I good enough?)~~ _but the desire to show him up had never waned.

“… Alright. How do I start?”

Zuko grinned excitedly. “Okay, we’ll start with something simple. First, you’ll want to create a blob of fire. Keep it contained, don’t let it spread.”

Zhao obeyed. Easy enough. Despite what his old teacher believed, he was able to limit his fire’s spread if he put his mind to it. That, and he’s done enough leaf burning exercises to last several lifetimes.

“Okay, now we’re gonna start with something simple, like a canary snake. First you want to spread the fire so it looks like a log.” Zuko demonstrated, holding his hands out for Zhao to see him smooth his own blob out into a thin, medium-length log.

Zhao commanded his fire to obey. It flared at one end, as if reaching out, but stubbornly snapped back into the main mass after a few seconds. Frowning, he forcefully pulled the fire apart, only for it to roll over into flickering tongues of flame rather than the controlled mass in Zuko’s hands.

“Don’t force it, you need to coax it into the shape you want. Otherwise it won’t stay that way.”

Zhao sighed, reeling in the hungry flames back into a molten blob. His fire was refusing to listen to him, as if informing him _you’re asking too much. Isn’t it enough I’m already staying like this?_

He growled. Irritation sparked in his chest. Coax? The only coaxing he’d ever asked of his fire was to burn bigger, brighter, hotter. And his fire had always obeyed, eager to spread and consume. But that wasn’t what he was asking from it now. Zhao snarled in frustration, and whatever shape that had been forming sputtered out.

“Like this,” Zuko smiled, grabbing Zhao’s hand and tracing his palm with his fingertips. He pointedly ignored the slight fluttering in his chest as he smoothed his fingers over the broad, rough palm. “Do you feel your chi lines?”

“I’d be a terrible bender if I couldn’t,” Zhao snarled impatiently.

“Your chi lines don’t get tangled up inside you unless you get really hurt. It’s the same thing for if you’re trying to form a shape with your fire. You must let it coalesce without interfering. Make sure you keep the fire from your individual chi lines separate but still running in parallel with each other. That’s where the crux of control is.” Zuko traced from his wrist to the tips of his fingers. If he really tried, he could almost feel the other man’s chi, swirling in golden warmth and arching in response to Zuko’s inner flame.

Zhao frowned down at his palm. He could feel the brimming flames lapping hungrily, but he didn’t need the same all-consuming power behind his usual bending. Huh, maybe all the nagging from Jeong Jeong did apply to some aspects of firebending. Not the ones relevant to combat, but if it was the case for something like this…

A wobbly snake-like shape rose from his palms. It wavered in his hand, flickering weakly.

“You need to stabilize it, keep your fire compacted.”

His fire looked like it was about to disperse, but at the last second before it was about to extinguish, Zhao managed to breathe a little more force into the centre. The snake-thing danced merrily in his palm, no longer in danger of going out.

“Nice,” Zuko grinned. “You can add the details now. It’s a matter of splitting your individual chi lines into smaller components, so that your fire branches out. In the case of a canary snake, you’ll want to focus on the lines on the outside, tease them from the main body to form the wings.”

It took several tries, much cursing, laughter from the prince, and very nearly letting loose an inferno in his frustration before Zhao finally managed to control a fiery canary snake flitting through the air. One of its wings were lopsided, but Zhao didn’t care.

“Not bad for your first try,” Zuko complimented. “See? Wasn’t so easy after all, huh?”

“I never claimed it was easy,” Zhao grumbled, “just that it’s not a useful skill.”

“I reckon it’s doing a great job training your self-control,” Zuko threw back. “Careful, it’s disintegrating.”

Zhao muttered another curse under his breath, restabilising his canary snake. He could already feel the strain on his chi lines from holding the same shape for so long. It was difficult, admittedly. He’d never had to sustain a delicate shape with his fire for this long before.

But for Zuko, it seemed like it was as easy as breathing. A platypus bear lackadaisically swam through the air. It morphed into a phoenix, soaring with the majesty and grace it was so closely associated with. It dove down, transforming into a prowling tigerdillo.

Zhao focused on his own shapes, deciding on practicing making the delicate details. It did not come easy to him; at times his chi lines felt finicky, and in others, it was easy to manipulate them in any which way he wanted.

But an hour passed and he found himself becoming progressively adept at creating fine whiskers, feathers, and scales. Not in the same multitude or liveliness as Zuko, but it was a far cry from his first attempts. He took a break, wanting to give his chi lines and inner fire a rest, content to lean against the railing and watch Zuko’s messenger hawk soar through the air, tail feathers trailing after it like whisps of smoke.

“What else can you make other than animals?” Zhao asked out of curiosity.

A flower bloomed in Zuko’s palms; one that Zhao recognized as a fire lily.

“My mother spent almost all her time in the gardens. She loved fire lilies the best and they became my favourite flower too.” The petals unfurled wider, flickering ever so slightly at the edges with gentle licks of flame. “Fire lilies only bloom for a couple weeks, but they’re known for their ability to grow under duress and conditions that would kill other plants. Most grow in meadows, but some can grow from ash. Did you know that? Volcanic ash especially grew the largest, most fragrant ones.”

“Botany isn’t my strong suit…” Zhao muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the flower. Zuko didn’t seem to hear him as he continued nostalgically,

“Mother used to say that if I were a flower, I’d be a fire lily ‘cause I never gave up.”

Zhao didn’t want to offer reassurances, nor did he feel the need to. But he supposed the late Princess Ursa did make a fair point. Agni knows how many times the prince had been put down only to climb back up like a particularly resilient cockroach. The fire lily fizzled out into the night, casting a warm glow on Zuko’s face.

It only served to accent the molten gold of his eyes and the fine features of his face.

“Is it hard making new shapes?” Zhao hurriedly asked the prince, trying to push that thought out of his mind.

“Not really, once you get the hang of it. It’s only when you want to make something that’s really complicated that it gets challenging.” Zuko replied. “What do you have in mind?”

Zhao didn’t answer, instead focusing on creating another blob of molten fire in his hands. He tapered one end of the fire into a long tail. From there, delicate fins bloomed at one end to form a fanning tail. Smaller fins branched out in intervals on the sides, fluttering gently in place. He debated adding scales, but that required a finesse he didn’t have the energy to spare for right now, although he did allow one splotch of flame to appear on the top of its head; a nod to the real thing.

A little rudimentary, but it was unmistakeably a koi.

Zuko made a noise of interest and critically studied the koi circling in the palm of Zhao’s hand. He copied Zhao’s process, forming the initial elongated mass of fire first, and then extending the fire lines at the sides. They were better shaped than Zhao’s, with slender tendrils of flame drifting from the main body, giving the illusion of the delicate membranes present in a koi’s fins and tail.

“I didn’t know you liked koi.”

“They just happened to catch my interest a while ago.” Was all Zhao said as he let the fish swim in circles through the air. Zuko didn’t press him for any further elaboration, which he was secretly thankful for. He might’ve come to the point where he was comfortable revealing some parts of himself to Zuko that he’d only ever done for very few people in his life, but he still wasn’t comfortable with spilling anything about his confidential plans for the North.

Luckily enough, Zuko seemed content to iron out the last little details in his koi. Two thin barbels appeared on the sides of its mouth, and a splotch appeared on the top of its head; identical to the one on Zhao’s. Zuko hummed his satisfaction and let it escape his palms.

It swam through the air as if experimenting with its environment before joining Zhao’s koi in its dance. Peace settled over them as they watched their koi circling each other in a never-ending cycle, with nothing but the splashing waves and the gleam of the moon as witness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zhao nodded gravely. "I know. You'd make a terrible sweet potato."
> 
> Ok but you can't tell me Zhao wasn't an absolute troll in canon as well.  
> (Many years later in the future, roasting sweet potatoes becomes part of the firebending curriculum at school)
> 
> Not too much going on for this chapter but rest assured, the next chapter is a beast of a thing.


	10. The War Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An insight into the planned invasion of the North and a bit of nighttime parkour. At the same time, the past is becoming increasingly restless...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy lunar new year everyone! In celebration, I bring you a very, very long chapter. I have taken liberties with the design of Zhao's ship (after squinting at any screenshot I could find) and it does seem like there's a 'roof' so technical inaccuracy aside, there is indeed, a roof.
> 
> This was one of my favourite chapters to write so I hope you guys are alg with a monstrously long chapter lmao

“The palace should be captured if we are to ensure the leaders of their army will lay down their weapons.” Commander Sook declared to his captivated audience, gesturing to the large map of Agna Qel’a pinned on the front wall.

“And how do you propose the plan of attack?” Admiral Zhao asked, curiosity only slightly roused. Sook puffed up under the attention of his commanding officer and unfurled a scroll with flourish.

“It will be difficult to gather enough forces to make their way through the thick of battle, but we can make it work if we stall for time. We can send the non-benders first; they should provide enough of a distraction until the firebenders can come in and melt the building to the ground.”

“You wish to use non-benders as cannon fodder, you mean?” Zhao clarified.

Sook jolted marginally but covered it up before Zhao could home in on his flinch of weakness. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. We can send in the more experienced soldiers; they’ll put up enough of a fight and aim to critically injure the waterbenders so it’ll be easy pickings for our firebenders.”

Zhao’s fingers drummed against the table with an almost calculated precision to the rhythm, as if he were counting down the seconds before a deliverance of judgement. “That’s assuming we have enough experienced non-benders to gather into a squadron by the time the real fighting rolls around. Hardly anyone’s fought a waterbender in decades. We cannot assume we have the advantage, much less on their home turf.”

The last invasion on the North having been eighty-five years ago, comparatively little information had been available for them to utilize when planning the campaign. Most of their assumptions on the North’s battle tactics and advantages had been formulated a priori, much to Zhao’s distaste. Finding a way around the treacherous terrain had already been challenge enough; Zhao loathed to take unnecessary risks in a campaign that could cement his glory for years to come.

“A few lives lost is barely a sacrifice when the fall of the North is on the line.” Sook stiffly held his hands behind his back.

Zuko tensed. This was like the 41st Division again. He couldn’t go through this once more, he couldn’t let soldiers die in a gambling chance just to gain an edge. But he also couldn’t speak up. No, no, no. The last time he interjected, he’d been burnt and banished. Sure, this wasn’t his father’s war council room, but that didn’t mean Zhao would be any less lenient. He’d have a proper excuse to hurt him this time, for real.

Still, his lips parted involuntarily, even as he didn’t know what to say. He faltered, trying to choke down the words, but also desperately wanting to speak up.

Under the table, a large hand suddenly grabbed his and squeezed. Barely managing to suppress a startle, he turned stunned eyes towards Zhao, who glared back at him in warning before releasing his hand.

“Commander, whilst I would usually be quite amenable to such a plan, the logistics are that we do not know if the mobilization of our ground troops once the walls have been breached will retain formation as planned. The waterbenders are the largest threat. An experienced pair could easily stop a small squadron in their tracks by freezing them to the ground.”

Surprised, Sook barely gave himself half a second to gape minutely at Zhao before adamantly insisting, “But the alternative, Admiral, would be to send out our firebenders to subdue them. We cannot stretch our benders so thinly over the battlefield; it wouldn’t be feasible.”

Zhao turned to a middle-aged man sitting off to his right and asked with a bored intonation, “Commander Yuka, how many firebenders could be reasonably spared to join the attacking force on the palace?”

Commander Yuka stood up, handing a thick scroll to Zhao.

“Sir, this details the number and names of our firebending platoons on each ship. We have a reserve of roughly two hundred, but allocation must be treated with caution.”

Zhao unfurled it, giving it a perfunctory scan before setting it down next to him. “Reserve a squadron for me personally. I want a compact team to join me on a separate mission.”

“Sir? Will you not be leading the charge in?” Yuka picked up a brush but let it hover over the scroll, not yet noting down the order.

“Oh, I’ll be there. There’s just a few contingencies I’ll need to take care of once we’re in.” Zhao turned to look at Commander Sook. “And about the capture of the palace… there’s a point I need to raise about that.”

“Sir?”

“The Northern Water Tribe are a proud people. I don’t believe the chief will be sitting idly in his palace waiting for the fighting to be over. No, he will most likely be on the frontlines, leading his people like a martyr. The palace will likely only house other members of the royal family.”

“Are you suggesting we relocate our troops, sir?” Commander Sook asked, confused.

“Hmm, not quite. Kill the chief, and you smother the morale of the men. Alternatively, capture whatever royal there is in the palace, and we may have a hostage situation on our hands. From intelligence, there’s a princess. We have options.” Zhao smirked. “… Supposedly.”

“Are you sure the chief will relinquish the fight if we capture his daughter?” Commander Yuka asked.

“No,” Zhao replied bluntly. “Which is where ‘supposedly’ comes in. We can’t rely on hostages to win the battle. Here is what I propose: there would be no point for the Northerners to heavily fortify and guard the palace if the chief is fighting amongst them. Therefore, we only send a small division of firebenders and elite non-benders to take the palace and capture anyone within it, but we focus the bulk of our troops on an all-out assault on the rest of the Northerners. That way, we can take the palace without needless sacrifice. I suggest we track down the chief as soon as possible and take him out immediately.”

Sook had returned to his place at the table and now asked, with brush in hand, “And keep the princess alive?”

“Yes, if at all possible. The spirits of the savages will remain strong even in the face of their leader’s death, but they can easily be broken if they see there is one last remaining royal member still left alive. General Iroh, you must’ve heard a few things about the Northern Water Tribe during your travels. Can you confirm that there is only a princess within the royal family outside of the chief?”

Iroh looked up from where he was nursing his cup of tea. “Yes. The princess I hear is of unrivalled beauty and benignity. A most charming young woman of high calibre.”

“I didn’t ask if she was attractive, I only asked if she existed.” Zhao sighed exasperatedly. “Never mind. Capture over kill. She will be brought back to the Fire Nation in chains along with any other high-profile prisoners. On separate ships, mind you.”

“Admiral Zhao,” Commander Hui piped up from the far end of the table. A newly appointed commander who had transferred from Admiral Chan’s fleet, he was not that much older than Zhao himself and was considered a commendable contender for Zhao’s status as the fastest to rise the ranks.

He’d also served under Admiral Shu as a fellow captain, Zhao vaguely remembered. He couldn’t recall much else beyond that, so Hui wasn’t anyone notable then.

“Yes?” He answered, flicking his eyes towards Hui. He didn’t bother turning his head or body to face him more fully. The most junior commander in the room didn’t warrant that token of respect.

Hui’s eye twitched at the slight but pressed on heedlessly. “If I may suggest; I’d be willing to lead the charge on the palace.”

“We don’t have time to pamper anyone’s vainglory, Commander Hui. I need you to lead the assault from your ship.”

It was impractical. Hui was a naval commander. Zhao would only trust one of the higher-ranking members of the troops he’d borrowed from the army to lead a land-based assault. Hui’s amour propre would just have to wait another day.

Hui’s eyes flashed and Zhao could practically see a retort building up in his throat. But the man reluctantly acquiesced before it could tumble out and subsequently spell his doom for backtalk. He dipped his head in acknowledgement but the glittering malice in his eyes suggested he was not quite as agreeable as he’d like Zhao to believe.

Ah, yes. Now Zhao remembered another fact about Hui. They’d never been particularly cooperative with one another. He suspected Hui had just been jealous of how highly Shu regarded him and had spurned the other captains seeking his instruction.

Not that it mattered. Zhao was the superior now; Hui would just have to suck it up.

“See to it my orders are carried out.” Zhao surveyed the rest of the table with a stern eye.

“Duly noted, Admiral.”

The commanders scratched their orders onto their respective parchments. Zhao took the opportunity while everyone was distracted to give a couple nudges to Zuko, raising a pointed eyebrow.

_‘I told you to keep your mouth shut.’_

Zuko flushed underneath his helmet and subtly reached over to squeeze Zhao’s wrist.

_‘Sorry. But I couldn’t let it go.’_

Zhao rolled his eyes slightly, tapping his fingers against Zuko’s hand.

_‘I took care of it, didn’t I?’_

“Admiral Zhao? What of the Avatar?”

“Plans are already in place,” Zhao cleared his throat, bringing his attention back up to the speaker. “No need to worry about it. Just focus on your main objective.”

Iroh cast a curious glance at him but thankfully said nothing more.

“A reminder that all trebuchets and tundra tanks are to be maintained daily. They are vital if we want to bring their walls down from a distance.”

“Of course, sir.” Commander Yuka nodded. “There’s also the matter of the tundra tank formations. Would you prefer to discuss it some other day?”

“Talk it over with General Iroh and bring the finalized plans to me. That would be more along General Iroh’s line of expertise than mine.”

Iroh beamed at Commander Yuka. “We can discuss it over tea tomorrow. Tell me, are you fond of Pai Sho?”

Commander Yuka blinked at him, flabbergasted, but was cut off by Zhao before he could respond.

“Is that all for today? Yes? Excellent, this meeting is concluded. You are all dismissed.”

There was a round of rustling of scrolls, parchments and stray pieces of paper as everyone gathered their things. Hushed conversations started, and the clinks of teacups resounded around the room as people drained the last of their tea before getting up. They filed out the door and Zuko noted with amusement that Uncle had incapacitated an increasingly uncomfortable-looking Commander Yuka by near-dragging him out with a hand firmly grasped on the man’s elbow while cheerfully chattering away.

As soon as the last person was gone, Zuko took off his helmet, gulping down a large breath of air. It was stuffy in the room and wearing a stifling helmet did not help in the slightest. Next to him, Zhao sighed, rubbing his temple with one hand and heating up his cooled tea with the other.

“Why do you never do what I tell you to do?” He groaned. He’d explicitly warned the prince beforehand to keep his mouth shut and abide by the unspoken rules of war councils.

“He was suggesting we sacrifice soldiers just to buy time,” Zuko tensed up defensively, bristling like a boarcupine. “I didn’t want to sit by and let that happen.”

“You really need to learn how to hold your tongue,” Zhao growled. “It was a stupid plan, yes, but you can’t just say that. You need to have _tact_.”

“But –”

“No buts. That’s enough out of you. You want people to take you seriously? You learn when to speak and when to shut your mouth.” Zhao reprimanded, putting down his teacup with a heavy clink.

Zuko begrudgingly nodded even as the affronted look stubbornly clung to his features.

“I’m telling you this for your own good,” Zhao tried to soothe him, “listen, I don’t know what your uncle has been teaching you, but this is something you need to learn before you can even think about becoming an active participant in another war council.”

“I guess.” Zuko muttered, looking away. Zhao sighed, reaching out to tilt his chin up gently, forcing Zuko to look at him. Casual touches were becoming more and more common between them, but he still marvelled at how he could do this without his fingers getting bitten off.

“Stop getting mad every time I say you can’t do something.”

“I’m not mad,” Zuko insisted, looking mad. Zhao stared at him flatly. “… Okay, fine. I’m just annoyed, that’s all.”

“You’d think after all I’ve done for you, you’d learn to be a little more grateful.” Zhao shook his head regretfully.

“You blew up my ship and made me look like I got into a fight in the back alley of a shady town.” Zuko countered in disbelief.

Zhao seemed to examine his face for a moment, tiling his chin this way and that. Zuko resisted the urge to squirm under the scrutiny, feeling his heart pick up its pace in nervousness under the weight of the amber gaze. Then Zhao hummed and nodded in satisfaction.

“Well would you look at that? All nice and pretty again.”

“Pardon?” Zuko asked, brain short-circuiting.

“The excellent conditions I have provided you during your stay on board my ship has done well to heal over all injuries that may have incurred after your mishap,” Zhao announced, as if that was something to be proud of.

“Mishap –” Zuko sputtered.

“And now you’re back to your beautiful self,” Zhao went on shamelessly, a smug grin breaking out over his face. “Plus, aren’t you glad you took my suggestion to cut your hair? You look much better this way. Less like a drowned rat and more like a…” Zhao tilted his head to the side, searching for the right word, “… baby platypus-bear?”

“Is that the best you can come up with?” Zuko deadpanned.

“The point still stands,” Zhao ruffled the prince’s hair, secretly pleased by the feeling of soft, smooth strands. “You don’t look like you crawled out of Koh’s lair anymore.”

“I’m still annoyed at you.” Zuko batted away Zhao’s hand. The feeling of someone running their fingers through his hair and over his scalp was nice, but he’d rather die than let Zhao know.

Zhao obligingly removed his hand and instead handed him a map. “Well stop being annoyed and start looking for a way into Agna Qel’a.”

“Erm… I assume through the holes in the walls once we’ve breached them?”

Zhao rapped the back of his head with his fist none too gently. “You’re using infiltration, fool.”

“Oh,” Zuko flushed, “I knew that.”

He scrutinized the map carefully. The entire city was closed off in ice, but there could potentially be a way to enter under the wall if he swam. Going over the wall was too risky; by the time the attack launched, everyone within the city would be on high alert.

But once he got in…

“The Spirit Oasis?” Zuko asked, tapping the location on the map with a finger. “That sounds like somewhere the Avatar would be.”

Zhao looked over his shoulder and frowned. “That’s where I’ll be heading.”

“You are?” Zuko was surprised, he would have thought Zhao would be targeting somewhere that sounded more impressive, like the palace or the armament stores, or even making it his personal mission to track down the chief and subdue him. “What for?”

“I’ve got business to attend to there.” Zhao replied gruffly, clearly not up for discussion. “Make sure you lure the Avatar out of there. I don’t want any disturbances.”

“… Alright.” Zuko muttered, committing the location to memory. “Why can’t I just go with you?”

“I told you, no disturbances. Get him out of there before I infiltrate. It’ll be easier for you to get in and out quickly if you’re going solo anyway. And you’re clearly a master at stealth. You ought to make use of it more.”

“Father would say that would be cowardly.”

“Is your father here right now? And anyway,” Zhao scoffed, “do you want the Avatar or not? It doesn’t matter what methods you use so long as you capture him.”

“I guess you’re right.” Zuko said doubtfully.

“Of course I’m right. Stop downplaying your own skillset. Your father doesn’t dictate what you’re capable of.”

“Your treason is showing,” Zuko warned half-heartedly. It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would when Zhao casually tossed around comments that bordered treachery to the Dragon Throne, which was a troubling thought, but lately he found he couldn’t deny that sometimes Zhao wasn’t completely wrong.

“Like you care.”

“I do care. That’s my father you’re talking about.”

“Right, yes,” Zhao drawled, “your _father._ ”

The prince furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at him in puzzlement. “What’s with your tone?”

“What? Nothing,” Zhao sniffed. “I just thought your father was a tea-loving Pai Sho-playing old man who thinks he’s being crafty when he tries to push an entire head of cabbage onto my plate.”

“I –” Zuko looked down. “Uncle’s just… Uncle.”

“I don’t know, I think I’d prefer him over your biological father. At least I can talk to him without fearing for my life the entire time.”

Zuko winced. Usually, Zhao would apologize after noticing his obvious discomfort, but he seemed to have become emboldened recently, refusing to recant his jabs towards his father. And the worst part is, Zuko couldn’t genuinely bring himself to refute his statements without question like he would only mere weeks ago.

“Why do you keep saying these things?” Zuko sighed.

_~~Because I know something about good father figures, and you’ll want to hold onto them before they decide to turn on you and desert you~~ _

“I’m just expressing my opinion.” Zhao answered blankly. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Zuko grumbled, deciding to change the subject. “Come on, I’ll look at this later. Dinner’s soon and I’m starving.”

“And here you were so reluctant to accept my offer of an alliance and actual meals,” Zhao lamented, “but look at you now, singing a different tune.”

“Shut up, you blew up my ship.”

“I told you, I don’t remember this.”

“You should shut up before I ask Uncle to convince the kitchen staff to make squash for dinner every night.”

“I can overrule his orders.”

“You know Uncle will somehow find a way.”

Zhao wisely opted not to say anything.

* * *

It was after dinner and an entire pot of tea when Zhao found himself somehow coerced into scaling his own ship to sit on the roof.

“I don’t –” he grunted, trying to swing his leg up over the edge. “I don’t understand how you climbed up the fucking wall. There aren’t any footholds for Agni’s sake.”

Zuko was having the time of his life watching the admiral struggling to wriggle up. It was a laughably easy climb for him, but the other man was bulkier, a lot less nimble, and definitely not as light-footed.

He was a decent jumper, at least. In the end, he’d taken a running start to leap off the floor and scramble up the wall with the momentum. Now the only obstacle left was to actually swing up onto the roof proper.

“Fuck this,” Zhao growled, finally pushing himself up with one last surge of strength. Zuko laughed, finally making a move to help pull the other man up. He struggled a little under the weight as Zhao bore down with his entire bodyweight for petty vengeance, but they eventually managed to haul Zhao onto the roof.

“Good job,” Zuko snorted as the admiral collapsed onto the metal for a moment’s rest. Zhao very maturely flipped a finger at him in a sign that Zuko had often seen being thrown around by his old crewmates in the early times of his banishment. That is, until Iroh caught them and made sure it was never repeated in front of impressionable youths again.

“I don’t understand,” Zhao repeated, throwing an arm across his face. “There weren’t any footholds or handholds. How in the ever-loving fuck did you climb up the wall?”

“Stop being a baby,” Zuko shoved the other man lightly. He refused to budge an inch, even for theatrics. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“You need to reassess your definition of ‘hard.’”

“Oh, shut up,” Zuko grinned, poking Zhao’s temple with a finger. “You are so dramatic.”

“I prefer the term ‘realistic.’” Zhao removed his arm from where it was covering his face to eye him warily. “Why do we have to come up here of all places to practice your fire shaping anyway?”

“There’s just something different about being up in high places,” Zuko shrugged. “Look at the view. It’s better than from any of the decks.”

Zhao sat up properly, looking out into the night. Admittedly he could see a lot more from up here; from the distant ships of the rest of the fleet bobbing with the rolling waves, to nearly the entire expanse of the deck, including…

He narrowed his eyes.

“What are those hooligans doing?”

Zuko followed Zhao’s line of sight to see Lieutenant Syako and Captain Hoshi covertly glancing around before slipping into one of the corridors that, if he remembered correctly, led to the mess hall. Zuko blinked.

“That… looks slightly suspicious.” He glanced at Zhao, who was still glaring after them with narrowed eyes. “Do you want to go after them?”

“No, it’s probably nothing. I’ll need to have a chat with them later about abiding to rules.” He grumbled. “Before you know it, every soldier on the ship will be sneaking off during the night to do Agni knows what. Such a shame. I was considering promoting Syako to captain. But if this is the way she treats the rules and conduct on the ship…”

“Give her a chance,” Zuko elbowed him lightly. “She might have a good reason.”

“It better be a damn good reason.” Zhao grunted, peeved. Suddenly, Zuko shushed him frantically. Zhao opened his mouth, a question forming on his tongue when quiet murmurs from below drifted within his earshot.

Zuko and Zhao leaned down to hear better, taking care to ensure they were still out of sight.

“- don’t think it’s that big of an issue. Just take it up with Zhao and he’ll sort it out.”

Zhao raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t get it man, I’m the one who has to tell him I messed up sending the letters. Now Commander Yuka’s gonna get Commader Hiro’s letter and vice versa.”

A groan, accompanied by what sounded like someone slamming their head against the wall.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic. Can’t they just mail it back to each other?”

“Er… well, they weren’t _letters_ per se, they were notes from some war council so they weren’t addressed to anyone specific. I’m not too sure, Shiki was being lazy and didn’t bother checking it over.”

“Wait, so you were doing Shiki’s job?”

Zhao narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, kind of. We were in the middle of a card game and he didn’t wanna get off his lazy ass to sort it out. So he offered me his portion of dessert if I took care of it for him.”

“And you agreed? Wow, you really do have a death wish, doncha?”

Zhao privately agreed.

A sigh.

“I don’t know what to do. Tell Zhao? He’ll tear Shiki apart and come after me next. There’s no way I can let him know without both of us getting burned to a crisp.”

“You’ll need to say something. Zhao’s gonna find out either way. He might be more lenient if you just tell him now.”

Not really. It was kind of cute how they thought he would.

“Alright, alright. I’ll tell him first thing in the morning. Come on, we better hurry up if we don’t want to be late.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

The two soldiers finally scampered into view as they headed in the same direction as Captain Hoshi and Lieutenant Syako did before. Zhao committed their faces into memory, already feeling seething annoyance rearing in his chest.

“What was that about?” Zuko whispered by his side.

“It looks like some people are about to learn a very harsh lesson in discipline.” Zhao snarled, wafts of smoke billowing from his tightly clenched fists.

“Isn’t this the perfect opportunity to strike fear into their hearts or whatever?” Zuko asked, feeling a streak of mischief lance through as ideas began to bud.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Think about it,” Zuko shrugged. “Wait for them to come back out and chew him out for whatever he did. He’ll think you’re omniscient or something.”

The smoke immediately dissipated as quickly as it appeared. Zhao stared at the prince, surprised at the stroke of genius proffered to him. “That… that is pure evil.” He said in awe.

Zuko grinned smugly. “You’re welcome.”

Zhao laughed, loud and short, but it was brimming with anticipated, wicked glee. And most importantly, it was genuine, untainted by the sarcastic bite that usually accompanied it. Zuko looked on in a stupor, never before having heard something so honest from the admiral before.

“I will take so much enjoyment from this.” Zhao smirked. “Very well. We’ll wait for them to come out and teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.” He glanced at Zuko. “Oh, didn’t you want to practice your fire shaping?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zuko snapped out of his shock and got to work forming a dragon, letting its whiskers nearly brush against Zhao’s face as it flew past. The admiral casually swatted away the fire and flicked a tiny canary snake towards the right side of Zuko’s face.

They sat there for an hour or so, letting the shapes flit and dive through the air. Their faces were lit up with a warm glow from their fire and for once, it felt like the weight of the expectations pressed on them wasn’t quite so heavy.

Zuko left the fire lily for last, as usual. It was a private moment for him to grieve and think about his mother. A time for him to seek a sort of comfort from creating her favourite flower out of his own fire. Doing so felt like it brought him closer to her, by placing such an inherent part of himself into something once so beloved by his mother.

Eventually, after Zuko had long let the petals fizzle away into the night and Zhao was already lying on his back stargazing, did they hear quiet chattering. To their luck, the same two soldiers from before slipped out of the doorway, talking to each other in hushed tones.

“Wait,” Zuko whispered, grabbing Zhao’s arm before he made his exit, “I just remembered something. Uncle plays Pai Sho with Captain Ito a lot. He said that Ito always plays card games with Shiki and I think Yao and Minho.”

Zhao squeezed the hand on his arm in affirmation. “Stay here,” Zhao murmured into Zuko’s ear before slipping down from the rooftop like a silent shadow, a stark contrast from the way he’d clawed his way up before. Zuko brushed off the shivers the whisper in his ear and the touch on his hand had instigated and settled in, watching the proceedings eagerly.

“- yeah, I don’t know right? Hira has liked him since like, the moment he appeared on the ship. But who knows if- oof!”

The soldier grumbled as he ran into what felt like someone’s chest as they rounded the corner. “Hey, watch where you’re –” he looked up and trailed off in horror as his friend started choking at the sight before them.

Admiral Zhao stared them down, amber eyes bright in the dark like a fox-cat on the hunt. His face was schooled into its usual impassivity, although the stern frown he was wearing hinted that something was about to go very, very wrong.

“Sir –” He managed to wheeze. Zhao’s voice rang out in the night, sharp as a whip.

“Names.”

It was obviously an order and not a question.

“Officer Yao, sir.”

“Officer Minho, sir.”

Smug vindication furled through Zhao at the confirmation of the names.

“Officer Yao,” the name rolled off Zhao’s tongue like an execution order. “Would you like to confess anything to me?”

“S-Sir?” Yao squeaked. Minho was shaking like a leaf beside him, looking one second away from wetting himself.

Zhao leaned in and _holy hell was he always this tall or is this what all prey feels like when they’re about to get pinned down and torn apart –_

“I said,” Zhao purred low in his throat, sounding not at all like he was threatening two of his own men, but was instead having a nice, civil conversation. “Is there anything you feel obligated to tell me?”

All thoughts fled Yao’s mind in a panic. “I- I don’t think so, sir.” He practically whimpered, every cell in his body screaming at him to get away.

“Really?” Zhao asked, mock surprised. “Nothing at all? Perhaps something pertaining to a little mishap over missent letters?”

Their minds went blank. The only conscious thought running through their heads being _how did he know? Did he overhear? But that’s impossible, there was nobody around, they made sure of that – how does he know how does he know how does he know –_

They watched through hazy eyes as Zhao seemed to take their silence as confirmation and in paralyzing consternation, as if all happenings were suddenly proceeding in slow motion, Zhao reached out and placed a frighteningly gentle hand on Yao’s shoulder before roughly yanking him closer so his mouth was next to his ear, whispering:

“No need to explain, Yao. I already know precisely what happened. Tell me,” Zhao smiled amiably, the unfriendly glint in his eye jarringly contradictive. “Who won the card game in the end? You or Minho? Or perhaps it was Shiki or even Captain Ito?”

Yao’s internal monologue screeched to a halt. Perhaps the knowledge he’d been playing card games could be explained away by eavesdropping, but how in the world did Zhao know Captain Ito played with them?

Up on the roof, Zuko had both hands pressed against his mouth, fighting with everything he had to stifle the laughter shaking his entire frame.

Finally, the spell seemed to break.

“Admiral Zhao, sir! I’m so sorry, I understand I shouldn’t have given into temptation and I will endeavour to atone for my mistake!” Yao bowed low at his waist, a beat away from grovelling at the other man’s feet.

“Oh, Yao,” Zhao sighed, letting go and shaking his head piteously. “Do you think me an unreasonable man?”

“Never, sir!” Yao hurriedly assured him, not wishing to exacerbate the situation. “Of course not, you are very reasonable, sir, the most reasonable admiral –”

“Oh, perfect.” Zhao grinned. “You had me worried. You agree, then? As punishment for aiding Shiki in shirking his duties, you will be in charge of cleaning the hawkery until the day of the invasion?”

“Yes, sir.” Yao looked close to tears. “Thank you for your mercy, sir.”

“Think nothing of it,” Zhao waved him off, the touches of a feral light flaring brightly in his eyes. “I only wish to build your discipline, after all.”

“Yes, sir. That’s very kind of you, sir.” Yao bowed his head. “Again, I apologize for encouraging Shiki to neglect his responsibilities.”

“Ah, yes. Shiki,” Zhao drew out the name in his familiar drawl, “tell me something, does he play Pai Sho?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is he proficient?”

“One of the better players on the ship, sir.” Minho answered for Yao dutifully. His friend looked like an aneurysm was nigh approaching. He did truly feel sorry for Shiki though, when a pleased look crossed Zhao’s face.

“Well, tell Shiki that because he prefers to play games over performing his duties, he was kept up the entire night with an absolute _urge_ to play Pai Sho with General Iroh. You see, Shiki will have heard of General Iroh’s prowess at the game and will feel an intrinsic sense of enthusiasm to play against the master himself. In fact, he will be so eager to enjoy Pai Sho _for an entire day_ that he will report to my quarters tomorrow morning after breakfast with a burning request to play.” He paused, enjoying the twin dumbfounded looks on the soldiers’ faces.

“Me, being a generous man, will indulge in his request. As a matter of fact, he will become General Iroh’s personal playing partner. Whenever the general desires, he will play. And if he doesn’t… well,” Zhao chuckled, ominous and foreboding, “it won’t just be the general who will be upset. _I_ will most certainly be disappointed if the quality of hospitality offered to him is not up to par.” He leaned in again. “You’ll relay all that to Shiki, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” They replied immediately in unison.

“Good lads.” Zhao straightened up again and offered one last conniving smile. “I’ve kept you two up late enough, you better head off to bed. Who knows what kind of monsters could be lurking around outside of curfew?”

A flame sprung up from his index finger, and Zhao let it roll over his knuckles casually, fully knowing how the fire cast foreboding shadows to flicker across his face.

“Yes, sir!” The two dunderheads practically screeched, bowing hastily before running off. Zhao laughed hauntingly behind their backs while Zuko could no longer hide his own snickers.

“Oh holy _fuck –_ ” Minho wheezed as soon as they were out of earshot. Yao opened his mouth, about to add to the sentiment when they heard something from behind that sent prickling chills to race up their backs.

_“Truss ‘em up and hold ‘em down,_

_Tie ‘em up and let ‘em drown,_

_Lashes ‘cross the back till dawn_

_Dig in deep, make it torn,”_

It was sung in smooth, dark tones, like a dagger sheathed in silk, and most importantly, it was unmistakably Zhao’s voice. In the distance, they thought they heard peals of cackling laughter.

“When Jaozi said he was a good singer, I didn’t think this was what he meant!” Yao wailed as he and Minho started outright sprinting back to their cabin.

When Zhao climbed back up onto his spot on the roof, Zuko was still howling with laughter.

“I think you went a bit overboard with the singing,” Zuko hid his giggles behind a raised hand. “You scared them shitless.”

“Eh,” Zhao lay on his back again. “What can I say? Maybe all these music nights are bringing out my singing after all.”

Zuko shook his head, the lingering traces of a smile still stubbornly clinging to the corners of his lips. Watching the other man now, relaxed enough in his presence to close his eyes and hum the rest of the song under his breath, Zuko could hardly believe this was the same man he’d sworn would forever remain on his blacklist.

Turning his face back to the multitudes of stars above them, Zuko couldn’t help thinking that sleep was going to come easy tonight.

He should’ve known life was never that kind to him.

* * *

_Zuko was forming shapes with his fire again. He was in the gardens, leaning against the tree that grew next to the pond where his mother used to take him to feed the turtleducks. The flora was brought in from outside the barren, scorched lands surrounding the palace just to bring a few splashes of colour for the royal family’s enjoyment, and it was here where his mother flourished like the flowers she so adored._

_He beamed, allowing fire lilies to bloom from his palms and scatter around the grass surrounding him. Their sweet scent filled the air; a scent he’d always associated with festivals and comfort. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the ambient noise of the gardens._

_The sound faded, slowly but surely, until he couldn’t hear the mellifluous notes of birdsong or the chirping of insects anymore. Confused, Zuko opened his eyes…_

_And found himself standing in the Agni Kai arena again. But like last time, there was something different. There was no audience, no torches, nothing._

_And then someone appeared within the darkness._

_His breath stuttered, shallow and gasping as he stared at the shadowy figure standing forebodingly in front of him, looming with an intensity to match the fear scratching at the walls of his mind._

_He dropped to his knees, as if all the strength left his legs in one fell swoop._

_“Please, Father –”he began the familiar spiel. But this time his father’s figure moved forward, cutting him off from the rest of his plead, voice coming out as a sinuous hiss._

“Suffer.” 

_His world was abruptly set alight by white hot pain and agony. He couldn’t bite back the scream that erupted from his throat –_

Zuko woke up to see the ceiling looming over him. The cabin was still pitch black, the window revealing the night sky and dimly glittering stars. His breathing was harsh and heaving, mirroring the way he gasped for breath in his dream.

“Nightmare?”

Zuko nearly screamed at the sudden appearance of a low, sleep-addled voice. He whipped his head around, meeting Zhao’s half-lidded eyes.

“Was it a nightmare?” Zhao repeated, blinking blearily from his bed.

“… Yeah. Did I wake you?” He asked, keeping his voice hushed as he tried to calm his still-racing heart.

“Bit hard to sleep when someone’s tossin’ and turnin’ like that.”

“Sorry.” Zuko apologized, mouth moving automatically.

“S’fine.” Zhao slurred.

“Sorry,” Zuko muttered again. “Go back to sleep.”

Zhao gave him a measuring look despite his evident exhaustion. “Don’t bother with that. Come on, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Zuko insisted.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing. Do you need to go see your uncle?” Zhao’s voice was clearer now, having shaken off the dregs of sleep.

“No, I don’t want to bother him.”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t mind if you woke him up.”

“He wouldn’t,” Zuko begrudgingly agreed. “But I don’t want to.”

It was admittedly comforting to talk to Zhao. His voice was grounding in the still black of the cabin even as his senses were still attempting to overwhelm him. Perhaps it was a reminder of reality, that he was far, far away from the accursed Agni Kai chamber. In fact, countless miles away from it, traversing on foreign waters in a ship that came from home.

A deep sigh from across the room.

“What does he usually do for you after a nightmare?”

“Tea,” Zuko responded immediately, mouth not yet registering his thoughts. “And he’ll ask if I want to talk about it.”

“ _Do_ you talk about it?”

“No, not usually.”

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Zhao offered, uncharacteristically soft. Shock dredged up in Zuko’s mind, a tingling sensation against the numbness of his own thoughts. Still, it wasn’t enough to drive away the feeling of too much, too little, too suffocating, too… too… _everything._

“Not really.” Zuko mumbled back, not wishing to acknowledge the twisting unease in his gut. “It’ll pass. I’m sorry I woke you up. Just go back to sleep. I can handle it.”

“Bit useless now,” Zhao yawned, sitting up. “I’m up. Come on, you still look like you’re in the middle of a panic attack.”

“What? Do I?” Zuko asked, trying to sound calm. But it was obvious even to him. His voice was tight, dripping with the insincerity of his assurances, and his heart still felt like it was trying to beat out of his chest.

Zhao gave him a flat look.

“I don’t think I need to answer that. Come on, get over here.”

“What?” Zuko squeaked. Zhao rolled his eyes and shifted over on his bed, patting the empty space next to him.

“Just get over here.”

The prince got up hesitantly and walked over, gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. Zhao grabbed Zuko’s hand and placed it over his own chest. “Breathe with me.” He commanded.

Zuko distractedly noticed how firm Zhao’s chest was as he obeyed. Most likely because the sensation of touching someone else made it all the more real that he was not living out a nightmare, that he was out here in the material world.

He exhaled shakily and pulled in a deep breath, matching the other man’s rhythm and depth of breathing. A few minutes later, the panic that stirred in his heart finally started to ebb and his rate returned to a much more normal pace. But now that he had found himself in the company of someone who was anchoring him to reality, he was reluctant to leave the comfort.

“Better?” Zhao prompted, releasing his hand.

“Yeah, thanks.” Zuko murmured.

“Ready to go back to sleep?”

He thought about lying, but the idea of curling back up in his futon with nothing but the strife of the erratic thoughts fermenting in his mind nearly made him physically recoil.

“Not really.” Zuko admitted. “I just want a distraction.”

Zhao hummed. “Ever tell you how I got the scar on my side?” He gestured to a faint line curving around his waist.

“No,” Zuko replied, gratefully going along with it, and slowly settling deeper into the bed.

“I was posted out in one of the Earth Kingdom colonies while our ship was going through some heavy repairs. Eventually it turned out it was in such bad condition that it was cheaper to just upgrade to one of the newer models than it was to fix it and keep sailing.” Zhao chuckled at the divergence. “Anyway, the colony was just recently taken so patrols were still required around the clock. I got stuck with the night patrol; it was just me and a handful other soldiers.”

He traced a thumb around the scar’s outline slowly. It was a relatively thin white line, smooth against his skin due to thankfully good healing. “We were ambushed by a mixed group of earthbenders and non-benders desperate enough to try take back the village. We managed to fight them off in the end, but during the battle, when I was distracted with facing down two earthbenders, a non-bender snuck up behind me and tried to stab me in the side.”

Zuko peered at the scar a little more closely. It didn’t look like a stab wound; not with how it curved around Zhao’s side from his back to the front.

“One of my fellow men shouted a warning,” Zhao explained, “I managed to duck away, but when I tried to get the non-bender off my back, he took a wild swing and got me across the side just as I was twisting away. It wasn’t too deep, thankfully, and missed anything vital.”

“You had two earthbenders at your front, though.” Zuko pointed out.

“Not the ideal situation,” Zhao agreed. “I managed to take down the non-bender. It was luck more than anything that by the time it happened, some of the other soldiers managed to incapacitate their opponents and come wipe out the two earthbenders for me.”

“Did you get carried back?” Zuko asked curiously.

“I could still walk,” Zhao patted the scar gently. “Made our way back, got stitched up, and was hauled to the commanding officer’s tent for a report right after.”

“They didn’t let you rest?” Zuko asked incredulously.

“They offered, I said no. Wanted to get it over with while my memory was still fresh. It was a quick affair anyway. Afterwards I collapsed in bed and slept until noon.”

“Wow,” Zuko said, for lack of anything better to say. “When did this happen?”

“Early in my career,” Zhao shrugged. “I was a new recruit.”

Zuko nodded consideringly. “I’ve been meaning to ask… how come it only took you like, a decade and a bit, is it? To become an admiral? All the admirals I’ve seen are old.”

Zhao barked out a laugh at that. “I guess if you show a lot of drive and have a penchant for conquests, you’re more likely to be noticed by the higher ups.”

There may be another factor to account for that, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it.

“Father’s the only one with the authority to appoint admirals, though.” Zuko pointed out. “At best, admirals can only recommend people to the Fire Lord.”

“You’re right about that.” Zhao agreed. “Admiral Shu had me aid him in strategizing for whenever he attended a war council in the capital. Eventually your father took notice that someone was helping him, which led to me joining Shu as an accomplice during his meetings.”

“I guess he was really impressed by you.” Zuko said, curling his knees to his chest.

“His expectations for me only became greater, though.” Zhao nodded. “I’m the youngest and most inexperienced admiral, but that only means I have to work harder to prove myself.”

“Still, I thought there were a limited number of admirals the navy could have.”

Zhao paused, staring at the wall ahead of them, emotionless. “… Shu died not long after I became commander. Your father thought I may as well take his place as admiral when I was the one who carried out the majority of the planning in his last years of campaigning.”

“Oh,” Zuko said, somewhat awkwardly. “I’m sorry to hear that. Were you close? You mentioned he was your teacher once.”

Zhao heaved out a sigh. “I’m not sure our relationship would be what you’d constitute as ‘close’. Shu never married or had kids, but I don’t quite think he saw me as a son. I certainly never saw him as a father.” He looked at Zuko somewhat forlornly. “Honestly it felt like I was dealing with a venomous canary snake at times. He mentored me, but you couldn’t get too close if you wanted to make sure you don’t get bitten.”

It sounded like a hellish relationship, if Zuko was being honest. It only made him gladder for the fact that he could be under Uncle’s tutelage without holding him an arm’s length away from himself. But Zhao had mentioned another name before, back during the first night they went stargazing and again when they discussed learning the advanced set of firebending forms.

“What about Jeong Jeong?”

Zhao’s shoulders rose defensively. “What _about_ Jeong Jeong?”

“Were you close with him?”

“Considered him like a father at one point, but that turned out to be a stupid mistake.” Zhao scoffed. “He’s a traitor, always has been.”

“You said you left when he wouldn’t teach you the advanced set.” Zuko remembered.

“Amongst other reasons, but yes that was one of them.” Zhao reluctantly divulged.

“What drove you guys apart?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Zhao muttered, looking away. “Let’s just say he really lives up to his epithet ‘Jeong Jeong the Deserter.’”

Zuko looked at him in sudden epiphany, golden eyes almost gleaming in the dark. “He betrayed you?” He prompted softly, no judgement in his expression nor tone.

Zhao said nothing, but his hands gripped the blanket tighter.

Zuko touched his shoulder lightly. “Do you remember what you said before? About how if my father really wanted me home, he’d welcome me back Avatar or no Avatar?”

“Yeah? What of it?” Zhao responded, turning his face to meet Zuko’s eyes.

“Do you still mean what you said?”

“Believe it or not, I do have an idea of what good fathers are like.” Zhao sighed. “Yes, I still mean it. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just…” Zuko bit his lip. “Sometimes I feel a little… betrayed. I didn’t think my father would really burn me like that. I didn’t think his love was conditional –”

“It’s not supposed to be.” Zhao stated softly, yet with a firmness that took Zuko by surprise. “I can tell you that, at least. But I think more often than not, people like us don’t get to experience it often.”

“People like us?”

“People who are born and raised in nobility,” Zhao clarified. “There’s a certain decorum we have to follow if we want to make it through the court alive.”

“Father loves Azula, though.” Zuko refuted.

“Does he? Or does he love what she represents?” Zhao retorted. “If she were born a non-bender, would he ‘love’ her as much as he does now?”

Zuko avoided Zhao’s questioning gaze.

“Yeah,” said Zhao bitterly. “I thought so. Everything’s attached with a price tag in the damn court.”

“Not all the time.” Zuko fiddled with the edge of the blanket. “My mother never had a price for her love. When Father got mad at me or Azula wouldn’t let up on her teasing, my mother would do her best to cheer me up. She’d take me to the turtleduck ponds, or sneak me something from the kitchens, and sometimes she’d even take me on a trip to town.”

He wasn’t quite sure what spurred him to reveal some of the most personal aspects of his life, but it felt like an obligation – that he had to uphold his mother’s memory, untainted by bitterness nor resent.

“Wish I could say the same.” Zhao said, gaze fixed on his own lap. “Neither my parents excelled at comfort.”

“Surely you have some good memories?” Zuko asked. “Memories you cling to to remind yourself of better times?”

_“Stop scampering around the boats, you little rascal!”_

_“But Master Jeong Jeong! They tied it all wrong!”_

_“That doesn’t mean you can go around tying it up for them without permission! Now get back here, you still haven’t finished training for the day.”_

_He couldn’t quite conceal his pout, something his mother would rap his knuckles fifteen times for, but was quickly appeased when a small, paper-wrapped rice candy was snuck into his hand. Jeong Jeong smirked down at him._

_“They were shoddily tied,” he whispered conspiratorially, “but don’t let me catch you eating that until you’ve finished your hotsquats!”_

_“As long as I don’t let you catch me,” he repeated gleefully. It was followed by a swift tweak to his nose._

_“Smarmy little brat.”_

“… No,” Zhao said, fighting back a wave of bittersweet nostalgia, almost able to taste the remnants of sticky rice candy he’d hastily shoved into his mouth as soon as eyes were taken off him. “Not really.”

“There has to be something.” Zuko frowned, elbowing him slightly. “… You’ll feel better for it.”

Zhao grimaced, pulling his knees to his chest like Zuko and sighed. The prince had laid himself bare but that didn’t mean Zhao had to. It was deeply personal, to let someone in behind his defences, to allow the spiderweb of cracks in his façade to spread and widen. 

“I wouldn’t judge you for it,” Zuko said, awkwardly sliding all the way onto the mattress, limbs splayed like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. “And if you don’t want to share anything, that’s okay too. But it’s… cathartic, in a way, to relive memories that you hold dear.”

There was one memory, one of the most precious he had. It felt like an age ago, but the warmth that stirred in his chest that night still thrummed softly even now. He’d never told anyone, but now when his guard had been obliterated and the only witness was a prince who trusted him enough to confide in him, he relented and began recounting one of his fondest childhood memories.

“Jeong Jeong used to take me to the local festivals. So long as I completed my training to a satisfactory level, of course. That was a bluff, though. He’d take me even if I burned through all the leaves or fell asleep during meditation.” Zhao smiled wryly. “One time I badgered him for flaming chili skewers so much he entered me in a chili eating spice competition to teach me a lesson. It backfired on him. I won the contest and came out with a newfound love for phantom peppers.”

_Most people would hardly believe the normally serious boy usually seen stoically standing in the corners of parties was capable of letting loose a trill of mischievous laughter. His teacher stood by shaking his head, watching his student easily devour peppers that made tears leak out of the other competitors’ eyes._

_“Do you still want those skewers?”_

_“Yes,” a flash of a sly smile. “I want them with phantom pepper flakes too.”_

_“You’ve singed your taste buds beyond help,” hands thrown up in exasperation. “Your insides must be made of pure fire by now.”_

_“That means I’ll be a better firebender, right?”_

_A worn, calloused hand tousled his hair._

_“Not if you keep burning through the leaves all the time, boy.”_

Zhao shook his head out of his reverie.

“He doesn’t sound so bad,” Zuko proffered, resting his chin on top of his knees.

“He’s a deserter,” Zhao growled. “It doesn’t matter what he did before. It means nothing if you’re a coward.”

“I have a feeling there’s something more to that.”

Too astute. It came far too close to a very, very, touchy subject.

“There isn’t.” Zhao denied roughly. “Deserting is one of the most severe crimes you could commit in the Fire Nation. Just because he took me to a few festivals doesn’t mean he’s exempt from the law.”

“Alright, okay. Sorry for pushing.” Zuko withdrew into himself, a tiny trace of guilt licking at his conscience.

“It’s fine. Just… not something I like to think about too deeply.” Zhao lapsed into brooding silence, flexing his fingers against the blankets in agitation. It was too late, though. Flashes of memories flitted before his eyes.

_A forest, deep in the middle of the night._

_Pleading words from a desperate old man, vehement denial from a younger man._

_The panic that clawed up his throat, the tinge to his voice as he came entirely too close to begging._

_The feeling of rough bark against his forehead as he leaned against a tree in a bid to avoid the inevitable._

_Something hot running down his cheek, the taste of salt lingering on his lips._

_The beginnings of stuttering gasps filling the empty hole in his chest before it was pushed down, never to rise again._

Movement beside him alerted Zhao to the fact he was not alone. Zuko shuffled closer to him, clearly not as skittish as before.

“Most good memories don’t need you to think too hard about them,” Zuko offered, gold eyes near glowing in the dark.

“Do you want me to try again?” Zhao scoffed derisively; privately thankful he’d been brought out of his thoughts.

“Only if you want to.”

Zhao quietened, taken aback by the response. No prodding or pushing? Zuko was adamant in his insistence when he was desperately curious about something or felt like there was information being withheld from him. Zhao had been bracing himself to fight off any probing that may come his way.

But if Zuko was leaving the option up to him… 

That was awfully considerate. It wasn’t a kindness he was exposed to often.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to repay it.

“I mentioned my father was my first teacher in the ways of the sea,” Zhao started, the nostalgia already colouring his voice. 

Zuko nodded. “I remember,” he murmured.

“Well, the first time he took me sailing was around the bay of a small island west of Caldera. I nearly fell overboard because I wanted to run my hands through the waves. Father yelled at me, of course. He threatened to tie me to his hip if I did something like that again. Not that it would’ve been very effective, anyway. I barely reached his knee in height.” Zhao dipped his head, a tiny hint of a smile breaking out over his lips.

Zuko fought back his own amusement. “It’s kind of hard imagining you as tiny.”

“We were all small once.”

Sometimes, he still felt small in a world so vast. He would never admit that out loud though.

“He took care of the sailing part. Said he wanted me to just sit back and enjoy the wind rushing past my fingers and the smell of salt carried along with it.” Zhao raised a hand as he said this, staring at his calloused fingertips, worn down and toughened by years and years of sea breezes and storm gales. Sometimes when he was alone on the deck, he’d raise his hand just like this to feel the wind nip at his fingers as if in greeting.

It very well might’ve been his first love.

He dropped his hand, letting it rest on top of the blanket.

“So I did. And – it was beautiful. The foam-tipped waves that crashed against the boat, the raucous cry of pelican-gulls as they circled the air, the rise and fall of the boat beneath you as you traverse a desert made of water. You’re in a different place when you’re on the sea. Like you’re hanging on to the lagging trails of a dream. During the daytime, you see the light glimmer on the swells like the stars had fallen in and scattered themselves in a disarray. At night they rise back up into the skies and watch over you, never blinking out or waning as you listen to the tides; sometimes tempestuous and turbulent, sometimes calm and warbling, like they’re singing a song composed of groans and gurgles.”

Zuko listened to the description, spellbound both by the lyrical quality Zhao’s voice had taken on and the awed, reverent look on his face as he immersed himself in his memories.

“Your father must’ve been glad you enjoyed it so much.” Zuko said quietly, listening to the lapping waves now, crashing gently outside.

“He told me he knew I was his boy as soon as he saw my face when we started sailing. That was my first experience with the sea. The first one I could remember, anyway. My father was a renowned sailor around where we lived. He was friendly with the local sailors; they called him a seadog amongst their ranks.”

_“Dad, why did they call you a seadog?”_

_The moniker ‘Dad’ was reserved only for times Mother wasn’t around. Any other time it had to be ‘Father’, or he’d get cuffed upside the head. Oftentimes it felt like Dad and Father were different people._

_Dad was all about fun and mischief. He only came out when it was just him and Zhao._

_Father was seriousness and stoic disposition. Any time there were other people about, a stony exterior was all there was to greet Zhao._

_“The sea’s in my bones, son.”_

_He wrinkled his nose. “But you’re not a dog.”_

_“That’s just what they call experienced sailors, boy. Who knows, maybe you’ll be a seadog with fiercer bite than me one day.”_

_“What about right now?”_

_A loud, booming laugh; one he’d always associated with dad’s good moods. It was during times like these that there was the highest chance his father would give in to what he wanted._

_But for now, he was content with getting picked up by burly arms and held close to a broad chest._

_“Don’t get ahead of yourself, son. For now, you’re my little seapup.”_

_For now. Those two words were finite in themselves._

And eventually, ‘Father’ overlapped ‘Dad’ and consumed whatever endearment that was left down to its bare bones. Zhao groaned, thunking his head on his knees. “I think I’m the one who needs a distraction now.”

He’d said it in half-jest, but the prince seemed to take his claim with seriousness.

Zuko cleared his throat. “My cousin, Lu Ten, used to take me to Ember Island whenever Uncle came back from war.”

Zhao perked up slightly. He was around Prince Lu Ten’s age, give or take a year or two. He’d never personally met the man though, as Lu Ten had followed his father’s footsteps into the army while Zhao had stuck with the navy. From what he’d heard, Prince Lu Ten had been a dedicated soldier and a fine leader no doubt in the midst of blossoming into a dependable future Fire Lord. It had jarred him when he heard about his death; a harsh reminder that men in his generation weren’t exempt from death, no matter how invincible they felt or appeared to be.

“He was the one who taught me how to swim.” Zuko’s fingers slowly curled into his arms, nails pressing tightly against his skin. “We’d go diving around the reefs and compete to see who could pick the prettiest shells. Then Uncle would string them up into a necklace for us.” 

He paused, thinking of the iridescent scallop shells that fanned against the gold of the sand under the brightness of the sun. Lu Ten loved to dive deep into the waters, disturbing the bottom of the shallows so tiny shells were carried along the swirls of the sand. 

Zhao pried Zuko’s fingers away from his arms. The prince hadn’t even realized he’d been digging his nails into his skin, leaving deep indentations. Any deeper, and he’d have nearly drawn blood. He breathed out shakily, trying to resist curling his fingertips into his palm. Zhao provided a solution for that, grabbing hold of his fingers firmly and resting their hands on top of their knees, as if he were trying to keep their collective brokenness from falling apart even more.

“I find it a little hard to associate Prince Lu Ten with seashell necklaces,” Zhao said wryly, but not unkindly.

“He wasn’t all about war and fighting and training.” Zuko chuckled sadly. “I really miss him. It’s not fair he died.” He subconsciously tightened his grip on Zhao’s hand. The admiral absentmindedly smoothed his thumb over Zuko’s fingers in gentle strokes.

“Nothing’s fair,” Zhao muttered. “Nothing’s been fair for a long time.”

They lapsed into silence. Zuko lapping up the feeling of calloused fingers stroking along his own in a repetitive, soothing manner (nobody had comforted him with physical touch like this for an age), and Zhao, allowing himself a moment of weakness to cast his mind back to happier times. He’d already let Zuko catch a glimpse into the cracks of his façade, what was one more slip-up in his defences?

Zuko cleared his throat, catching Zhao’s attention. “Hey, thanks for… you know, doing all this. Uncle’s not always the greatest at helping me with nightmares, even though he does his best, but… this helped. A lot. So – thanks.” He ducked his head, feeling his ears burn. He couldn’t see Zhao’s expression, but his hands were given one last squeeze before they were released and a soft “you’re welcome” was uttered into his ear.

“I don’t really wanna move, though.” Zuko confessed, hands tingling with the memory of the warmth that had encapsulated them. “It’s really comfortable here.”

“You can stay here for the rest of the night,” Zhao shrugged. “We’ve got maybe two hours before sunrise.”

“You’re not gonna bitch at me if something like last time happened?” Zuko asked, raising his head to look at the man questioningly.

“We poured our souls out to each other for more than an hour. At this point, invading each other’s physical space is nothing in comparison.” Zhao snorted, nudging him with a shoulder. Zuko’s back slid down from where he was leaning against the wall and he turned his head, stifling a laugh against said shoulder. Zhao tried to tell himself that the heat rising to his face was simply because of their earlier heart-to-heart and not because Zuko was comfortable enough to lean into him like this now.

“Alright,” Zuko agreed, still not removing his head from its place on Zhao’s surprisingly comfortable shoulder. “Alright.”

He drifted off to sleep right then and there, the exhaustion hitting him head-on. Zhao huffed, not nearly as peeved as he’d like to be, and pulled the blanket up to cover them both before dropping off to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone object to more Jeong Jeong + Zhao or Zhao + his mom/dad stories? There is a future Zhao-centric chapter but with a woeful lack of happy memories so I kinda want to indulge a bit by shoving some in another chapter lol
> 
> Of all the nicknames throughout this fic, I have a special soft spot for seapup, just throwing it out there.


	11. The Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected event finally makes Zhao crack. For the first time in who knows how long, he's left himself raw and open in front of others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: meet the chapter that spawned the entire foundation of Zhao's backstory. This chap never existed in my original outline. The idea for it hit me like a train out of nowhere and I rushed to get the bare bones of it down lol. From there, it inspired Zhao's relationships with Shu, Jeong Jeong, and a bit of his parents.
> 
> Writing this was infinitely satisfying. Giving Zhao a chance to let go of his repressed emotions? Yes please. All those little cracks in his composure were pretty much leading up to this moment of catharsis.
> 
> Trigger warning: suicide.
> 
> I'm doing my best to keep track of anything that might be a trigger, but please don't hesitate to tell me if you'd like something tagged.

The first death happened before they had even gotten close to the Northern Water Tribe.

Zhao and Zuko were overseeing a midday joint training session between the non-benders and the benders. The sun shone brightly overhead, skies clear and devoid of clouds. It was a pleasant day – warm enough to shed a few layers, but with enough breezes to cool down the scores of soldiers on deck. The soldiers themselves were training in either pairs or compact groups, running through strategic formations and sharpening their overall combat skills.

Zhao’s attention was drawn towards one group in particular – a trio of firebenders. Two of them were middling-experienced soldiers, having participated in small-scale warfare around the borders of the Earth Kingdom. Although this was their first time joining such a large-scale invasion, they had already been combat-hardened with several skirmishes under their belt.

However, the last one was a young recruit who had been conscripted mere months ago. To his luck, the siege of the Northern Water Tribe would be his first military campaign. It was this soldier that found himself the unlucky recipient of Zhao’s sole attention.

“You need to be more decisive,” Zhao scowled, “strike through the heart. Your blasts keep going astray. You won’t find the water savages to be as merciful as you are right now.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” He mumbled back weakly.

“Sorry won’t cut it. You’re a firebending soldier, act like it.” Zhao nodded to the other two soldiers. “Again.”

They saluted and started another round of sparring.

“Put more force into it!” Zhao growled, “Fuel your ferocity – what are you doing? Don’t back down!”

The soldier was knocked off his feet by a precise strike and hit the deck with a groan. Zhao marched over, hauling him to his feet.

“Like this, recruit.”

He gestured to one of the men, who shot a powerful blast of heat at him. Zhao blocked with one arm and struck with the other in tandem. His own fire hurtled through the air, boiling hot in its intensity. It was barely blocked by both two soldiers.

“You need to stand firm in the face of adversary,” Zhao scolded, “take them out before they have a chance to put you into the ground. Or in their case, bury you up to the neck in ice.”

The recruit bowed meekly, stepping up to face his training partners again.

“Start!”

This time when the blast came, the soldier knocked it away to the side.

“Better, but watch out for other people! Directing an attack elsewhere is only effective on the battlefield if you don’t take accidentally take out one of your own!”

The soldier panted harshly from exertion, dodging an attack from his left and whirling around to face his attacker. He shot a fireball but didn’t see the other soldier taking advantage from behind. A blow glanced off his shoulder.

“Know your enemies’ positions! Don’t turn your back on them if you can help it!”

He stumbled, hard. Ducking low as another fireball sailed over his head, he scrambled to regain his footing, backpedalling as an unrelenting series of attacks were thrown straight at him.

“Cut a swathe through the fire! Don’t let them back you into a corner!”

He obeyed, pushing the stream of flame to his sides as he tried to bound forward again. He threw a few feeble attacks in return, but they were swatted away like they were nothing. The other two soldiers were on the offensive again, coming in from both sides to drive him back. Exhausted, he tried to batter through the storm of searing hot flames launched at him.

“Duck and weave! Conserve your energy and get into open space!”

They were drilled relentlessly for a little more than half an hour before the soldier finally dropped, gasping and heaving for breath. The other two soldiers hung back, exhaustion clear in their faces but faring far better than their fellow recruit. Zhao had a black look on his face.

“You barely managed to land a hit on either of them. If this were a real fight, you’d be dead ten times over.”

The soldier flinched, but evidently tried to hide it. Zhao caught it all the same. “Recruit, you will need to come to terms that you are fighting for your life out there. Not just that, you will see death, and even death by your own hand.”

“Sir,” he protested weakly, blanching as soon as killing was mentioned. “Surely I can use non-lethal force?”

The surrounding soldiers held their breath. You didn’t question Zhao; you just simply didn’t. A thunderous expression rolled over the admiral.

“And give them the slightest opportunity of stabbing you or your fellow men in the back? An alive enemy is a dangerous one. You need to take them down and _keep_ them down. That is your duty to your nation and your lord.” Zhao said it calmly, but the testy impatience flickered across his face.

“I’ve never killed anyone,” the soldier whimpered, too terrified by the prospect to notice Zhao’s building temper. “I don’t want to.”

Zuko shifted uncomfortably at the vulnerability in the man’s voice. He was young, that much was obvious, but even Zuko has had blood on his hands before. Although he could definitely understand where the soldier was coming from, the truth was that war tainted every soldier or fighter on the frontlines. He did understand that sometimes it couldn’t be helped, but Zuko would prefer as little bloodshed as possible himself.

But Zhao didn’t have the same sympathies.

“I’m afraid that may not be feasible,” Zhao said tightly, eyes glinting dangerously. “The first kill is always the most difficult, I will allow that much. But understand this: it is either you or them. Which one do you choose?”

“I – I don’t – I –” the soldier whined. Zhao sighed.

“Get him used to the idea of killing,” he snapped sharply at the man’s training partners. “Practice on the pelican gulls or something, I don’t care. But I will _not_ tolerate spineless men on board this ship.”

“I don’t want to,” the soldier pleaded to his comrades. “Please, I don’t want to. Please, sir – don’t make me do this – I – I can’t –”

“Calm yourself!” Zhao berated. “I’m not asking you to enjoy killing, I’m asking you to survive battle so you can continue serving our nation!”

“I don’t want to –” he babbled, eyes darting about wildly, “I can’t – I won’t –”

“You will die, recruit, if you do not come to terms with it. The Northern savages will tear you apart limb from limb if –”

“I’ve never –” the soldier’s face was ashen, a look of unease and terror painting over his features in pale horror.

“For fuck’s sake, calm down. The invasion is not far away but there’s still plenty of time to –”

“I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!” The soldier wailed, spittle frothing at the corners of his mouth. Zhao was taken aback, cautiously taking one step forward.

“Recruit –”

The soldier immediately flinched back, curling in on himself.

“No, no, no, no –” he coughed, “I don’t want to kill - I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want them to kill me –”

The soldier backed up until his back was flush against the railing. Zhao’s eyes widened in realization, snapping into action as he made to sprint towards the man, a shout leaving his mouth:

“SOMEONE STOP HI –”

It was too late. With one last broken wail, the soldier pitched forward over the rails and plummeted towards the lapping waves below.

Zhao reached the railing one split second too late. His hands went white with how tightly he was gripping them. He leaned over, peering down into the waters. With all the armour weighing the soldier down, the body was long gone, sunken deep into the recesses of the water.

“Fuck,” Zhao swore under his breath.

He didn’t allow himself much time to process the moment. Instead, he turned around in an instant, a flurry of orders streaming out of his mouth in rapid succession.

“STOP THE SHIP!” He barked. “SOUND THE HORN TO THE REST OF THE FLEET!”

One of his senior captains immediately ran off to the bridge, not bothering to salute. Zhao didn’t care, feeling the pangs of relief course through him when he noticed the grim expression on the captain’s face. Someone experienced. Excellent.

“General Iroh, send a messenger hawk detailing what happened to all commanding officers of the fleet. Tell them we just had a jumper.”

Iroh nodded and rushed off.

“You!” Zhao roared, pointing at a random soldier, “Go to the kitchens and get me a bowl of salt. And you,” he grabbed another by the arm, “storage room, third floor, fifth door down the hallway. There’s a box of incense. Get them and bring them out here to me. Collect the first five captains you happen upon and tell them to come see me. Do. Not. Dally.” He shook the soldier with every word.

The two terrified soldiers hurried to obey. To the rest of the men, he snarled:

“Go collect that fool’s belongings. Every single item he had in his possession. Cover all the mirrors and turn any handheld mirrors lens-down, and someone go make sure that the anchor is lowered!”

The deck burst into a whirlwind of activity, carrying out his orders with a harried frenzy.

He nabbed a passing soldier by the collar. “Tell the cooks to prepare early dinner and to get everyone fed by sundown. Something simple but filling, there’s no time for anything else.”

“Yes, sir.”

Finally, he turned to Zuko, grabbing him by the shoulders. “I need you to go to my cabin and get me a white ribbon. Second drawer on the left side of the desk.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and muttered, “Fuck, this is just what I needed.”

“Are… are you okay?” Zuko asked, unnerved by the happenings around him.

“I’ll explain later. Go get me the ribbon and hurry back here.”

“Alright.” And with that, the prince ran off, joining the clamour of the soldiers.

“Sir,” a soldier ran up to Zhao, breathless and panting. “The salt.”

She proffered a bowl as she fought to suck air into her lungs. Zhao grabbed it without sparing her another glance and the entire deck of soldiers watched Zhao patrol the perimeter, flinging salt into the waters as he went. By the time he finished his lap, four soldiers came up to him, carrying bundles of clothes, tokens, and other miscellaneous items. One of them had dragged a trunk over.

“Nonjin’s things, sir.”

“Is that his trunk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it full?”

“There’s a little space left.”

“Shove everything inside it,” Zhao commanded, “latch it closed if you can.”

It took several long minutes of squeezing and squashing, but eventually they managed to tightly pack everything inside. Before they shut the lid, Zhao sprinkled salt on top of all the soldier’s possessions. Then with a remarkable burst of strength, he hauled the entire trunk over the railings. It hit the water with a resounding splash.

“Zh – I mean, sir? I got the ribbon.” Zuko ran up, proffering it in a tightly clenched hand.

Zhao snatched it out of Zuko’s grasp and lashed it around the rails. The ends fluttered in the wind like a bright trail as it reflected the light of the sun’s rays.

“Does everyone on board know what happened?” He asked one of the soldiers who’d brought out the jumper’s belongings.

“Not yet, sir. We’ve sent people to spread the word.”

“Tell everyone to finish their duties as soon as possible. Any non-urgent work can be put aside for today. We don’t have much time, but gather everyone to meet me here one hour before sunset. The cooks, stewards, captains; _everyone_. Oh, and fetch me a barrel of salt.”

Zhao turned to the horizon, amber eyes glinting with steely conviction.

“We are not having a Restless One tonight.”

* * *

Sunset was nearly upon them when Zhao relayed his last orders of the night. His voice was devoid of its usual imperativeness. Solemn with an underlying warning laced underneath, it sent chills down everyone’s spines.

“Go to your bunks and lock all the doors and portholes. No matter what you hear or see, stay inside and _do not_ open the door. Do you understand?”

Everyone saluted in affirmation.

“I will be remaining on deck throughout the night. If, and only _if_ , you are in absolute dire need of me, take a lantern and bring someone with you. I reiterate, _do not come alone_. If you have reason to leave, leave as quickly as possible and make sure someone locks the door behind you. Do not look behind, do not turn around, do not loiter, keep your eyes on the lantern as much as possible until you see me. Do you understand?”

Another salute. Most of the men looked unnerved. Some of them looked a second away from wetting themselves.

“I don’t care if you need the bathroom, or if you get hungry, or if you want to go for a midnight stroll. You are to stay inside. Only once dawn breaks, and only then, may you leave your cabin. _Do you understand?_ ”

“Yes, sir.” The deck chorused. More than one voice shook.

“May Agni bless us with His protection. Go. Now.”

His men filed away, deathly silent and perturbed.

Zuko stayed.

“You may go back to my quarters if you wish.”

Zuko jolted in surprise.

“What?”

“You don’t need to stay here with me. There’s enough time left for you to get to the cabin. You should hurry, before there’s no-one to escort you there.”

“No, I’m staying.”

“Pardon?” Surprise flashed across Zhao’s face.

“I’ll stay.” Zuko repeated, chin tilted up in defiance. “You could probably use a little company.”

Zhao tamped down the weary gratefulness that rose in his chest.

“Your choice.” He murmured instead, turning his gaze back to the setting sun.

By the time the deck was completely cleared of people and everyone had obediently shut themselves into their cabins, the last rays of light disappeared from the horizon.

Night fell upon them.

Zhao reached out, grabbing a handful of salt and sprinkling it into the waters below. Zuko fidgeted and pulled off his helmet for lack of anything better to do. The lapping of the waves against the still ship sounded ominous now and the faint light of the moon was made fainter still when clouds began to obscure it.

Zuko still didn’t know what was going on, or what all the customs that were carried out today were for, but there was a thick sense of foreboding in the air that set everyone, including himself, on edge. He instinctively shuffled closer to Zhao.

Footsteps from behind nearly made his heart stop.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice called out. Zuko felt the breath leave his lungs in relief as his uncle wandered over to them with a lantern in one hand and a basket in the other.

“General Iroh,” Zhao frowned, “what are you doing out here? You should be inside.”

“Nonsense,” Iroh waved him off, “I cannot possibly rest in good conscience if you are both out here.” He gave a pointed shudder at the beginning wisps of mist curling around them.

“Do you understand why I’m out here?” Zhao asked, returning his steadfast gaze back out over the water.

“Not entirely.” Iroh admitted. “I’ve never had to encounter anything like this in my entire military career until now. But I assume this is some sort of funeral rite?”

“If only it were that simple.” Zhao snorted. “The forsaken we call soldiers who kill themselves rather than die in battle. But on the sea, such a person is called a jumper. Typically because they commit suicide by plummeting overboard. Unfortunately, there have been instances where the spirit is restless and seeks to cause calamity to the ship on which they served.” He heaved a deep sigh. “We call them the Restless Ones. They come back to haunt the ship, and sighting one is a sign of coming misfortune. The closer we are to battle, the more likely a Restless One will manifest. And unfortunately for us, this appears to be the case.”

“The spirit haunts the ship?”

“For one night after their death. Supernatural events do tend to happen. Strange noises throughout the night – screaming, footsteps, whispering in the dark, the like.”

“That would certainly explain why this mist feels so… odd.” Iroh said with a troubled look on his face, watching the water vapour swirl around as if it were dancing. “So what would your purpose be out here, Zhao?”

“Someone needs to throw salt into the ocean once every hour,” Zhao grimaced, “to stave away the spirit. Since this ship is on its way to a major battle, I’m not willing to take any risks of our mission being compromised. I’m not losing a victory over one restless spirit.”

“I see.” Iroh murmured solemnly. “You have taken up a troubling task on your shoulders, Admiral.”

“The law of the ocean must be abided,” Zhao intoned dully, “it is my duty to see this through to the end.”

Iroh fidgeted and cleared his throat delicately, offering up his basket. “I’ve brought a few things. Some blankets and candles, to hold vigil for the poor soul and guide his way to Agni’s Eternal Light.”

Zhao immediately scowled. “A forsaken soldier doesn’t deserve a vigil. I most certainly won’t join you in that regard.”

“I’ll do it with you, Uncle.” Zuko cut in before his uncle could prod the other man further. Iroh gave him a melancholy smile and handed him one of the candles in his basket.

“Oh, just a second. We should put these blankets to use.” He draped one of the blankets over Zuko’s shoulders, fussing about with tucking it in neatly, causing Zuko to fluster.

“Uncle,” he whined, “I don’t your help.”

Iroh chuckled, letting go. “My apologies, Nephew. Of course.” He turned to Zhao next with another blanket, but just as he was about to offer it up, Zhao stopped him with a raised hand.

“I’ll be fine, General Iroh.”

“You’ll get cold.” Iroh frowned, moving to place it over Zhao again. The other man side-stepped away from him, shaking his head.

“I’m fine.” He repeated. “We’re firebenders. Temperature regulation comes easy to us.”

Iroh sighed. “Well, if you insist.” He draped the blanket over himself and fetched a candle from the basket, lighting it up with Zuko. The flames flickering from the wicks cast an ominous glow within the now-thick fog. Even with the lighting, it felt like nothing could permeate through the water vapour curling around them.

They stood, holding their candles close as the temperature dropped and the fog billowed over the entire deck, turning it into a cloudy wasteland.

“Is it just me, or is it getting cold really fast?” Zuko asked, teeth beginning to chatter. He allowed his inner flame to flare and pump heat into his extremities, but even that felt like it did nothing to chase away the bone-deep chill.

“The temperature is dropping unnaturally fast,” Iroh agreed. “No doubt the work of –”

A piercing shriek rang out through the night. They both jumped, looking at each other in bewilderment. It barely sounded human. In fact, one wouldn’t think to classify it as human. It was grating, despairing, and sounded entirely too close for comfort. Zhao didn’t flinch, only reaching out to scatter salt across the deck. The other two huddled closer to him.

“Zhao, what was that?” Iroh asked, deeply disturbed.

“Cries in the night, remember? Don’t be alarmed if you see shadows or silhouettes in the fog,” he warned. “Just stay close to each other and don’t look too closely.”

“I wasn’t aware the forsaken could become malevolent spirits,” Iroh murmured.

“They’re a real thing,” Zhao replied, “not to be trifled with. But it’s too late for you to go back in; it’s not safe.”

“I would not wish to leave you out here anyway,” Iroh assured. “I cannot imagine staying out here alone.”

Zhao shrugged. “They’re not _actively_ malevolent. Or at least, they can’t if you’ve got the proper protective measures. I’m not sure. Nobody’s ever taken the risk to face one without equipment.”

A whisper in the fog brushed past them, sounding as if it was made up of multiple rasping voices. A dry cackle sounded in the distance. Iroh and Zuko jumped, latching onto Zhao’s arm in tandem. The man only stared into the fog with a detached expression on his face.

“This one’s working faster than usual,” he observed casually. Then he reached up, patting the hands attempting to cut off his circulation comfortingly. “There, there. No need to fret.”

“This is not your first time dealing with this?” Iroh asked, turning wide eyes on Zhao. He thought he’d spotted a twisted figure crouching on the rails in front of them, but the other two didn’t seem to have noticed it. Sometimes his sensitivity to spirits was just as much a curse as it was a blessing.

“I’ve accompanied Admiral Shu through it once.” Zhao explained, “He wished me to have hands-on experience in case I ever had to deal with a jumper.”

“Admiral Shu asked you to deal with spirits?” Iroh asked incredulously.

“He was adamant I learned.” Zhao pried the hands off him. “You got the theory for it if you were an admiral or a high-ranking commander, but he said nothing was better than practical experience.”

“He seemed to have treated this as a rather casual matter.” Iroh said cautiously. Something tightened in Zhao’s expression.

“It was by far the first time he had to carry out the rites, but he mentioned something about wanting to test my mental fortitude in the face of such situations. Not just anyone could withstand these types of ordeal.”

Iroh gaped soundlessly. “Did… did Admiral Shu often force you to do… such things?”

“He didn’t _force_ me,” Zhao crossed his arms defensively. “The worst he’d do is strongly recommend.”

“Coercion is just as bad as forcing.” Iroh intoned seriously. Zhao looked away stubbornly.

Another bloodcurdling shriek cut through the air and the temperature dropped sharply again. Zhao sprinkled another handful of salt in the water. The screaming faded into the distance.

“Zhao. What did Admiral Shu think about the forsaken?” Iroh asked.

“The forsaken are a weak bunch of fools who don’t deserve any respect, and those that mourn for them are weak of heart.” Zhao recited.

The fog curled like beckoning fingers.

“And do you believe that?”

“Of course,” Zhao said, tongue heavy in his mouth. “It doesn’t matter who it is. If they choose suicide over an honourable death on the battlefield, then they are weak. And weakness cannot be tolerated.”

The fog seemed to cloak the admiral’s shoulders.

“Is that why you have a vendetta against deserters as well?” Iroh asked carefully, holding up the candle so he could see Zhao’s face more clearly. Said man’s face twisted into an ugly snarl, an enraged light igniting in his eyes.

“Nothing good ever comes from deserters,” Zhao said in a hateful tone. “Look at what misfortune has befallen us today. This is what happens when someone is too cowardly to face consequences. You either end up dead or destitute in a forest with other undeserving savages.”

“You speak of Jeong Jeong?”

A cynical laugh rasped out of Zhao’s throat, “That old fool. I should’ve known he possessed no loyalty long ago. Not to the Fire Lord, not to our country, not to –” Zhao swallowed, as if physically pushing down whatever words were about to spill from his lips.

The story was there, brimming just underneath the surface. Iroh yearned to reach out and peel away the layers. It was so close; Jeong Jeong had kept his silence, stubbornly refusing to answer any questions pertaining the night of his desertion beyond the bare minimum.

There was, however, one detail Jeong Jeong had finally divulged to him away from prying eyes and passing ears: he had sought Zhao out just before his escape from the mainland.

For what? Iroh had no idea. He could not deny the burning curiosity in his chest as soon as Jeong Jeong had let the detail slip, but nary a word more passed the man’s lips and there had been no one else to ask. Except for Zhao himself.

“Zhao,” Iroh began cautiously, ready to withdraw within a moment’s notice. “What do you know of Jeong Jeong’s desertion?”

“Nothing,” Zhao replied, not a beat too early nor too late to give anything away. “Nothing. Except that he had stolen away into the night in an unregistered vessel.”

“What were you doing the night of his desertion?”

“Is this an interrogation? I’m afraid you’re a bit late for that, General Iroh. I’ve already been questioned heavily back at the capital.” Zhao scoffed before reciting details like he was reading a progress report aloud. “My answer is still the same: I was on board Admiral Shu’s ship in my cabin. I didn’t leave it at all except to go out for a few minutes of fresh air. Hardly enough time for me to be involved in some conspiracy for deserters. I then elected to retire early after carrying out extensive planning for our next campaign in the Earth Kingdom. News of Jeong Jeong’s desertion did not reach me until the next evening when Shu called me in for a meeting.”

A lie.

An excellent lie, but a lie nonetheless.

Zhao’s face was calm, posture relaxed, tone even, and voice unshaken. If Iroh didn’t have it on good authority that Zhao had not in fact, been dutifully staying in his cabin, he would’ve thought he was telling the truth.

“You had no contact with him at all?”

“I had not seen him for months. There was no way for me to anticipate he would desert. It came as a surprise, General Iroh.” Zhao’s hands clenched by his sides and the subtle downturn of his mouth changed his entire expression into one of disappointed remorse. “To hear that a man who still had so much to offer to his nation would –” he cut himself off, looking to the side as if there was something floating in the air to ground him. “– Ahem, turn his back on everything. I admit, it was even more of a shock when I heard it was my old master of all people to desert.”

 _‘How much of that is the truth?’_ Was what Iroh desperately wanted to ask. He had no doubt Zhao was appealing to his emotional side, attempting to sway Iroh into letting up his line of questioning by making himself look vulnerable.

But Iroh was Azula’s uncle and brother-in-law to Ursa. He knew a thing or two about acting.

The question was, just how much of it was an act? Iroh wanted to prod further, discern what was genuine and what was a lie. But he also knew no amount of pushing right now could cajole Zhao into telling the story. Not right now. It was clear he wasn’t ready. But that didn’t mean Iroh couldn’t wrangle something else out of him.

“Yet Jeong Jeong is a deserter.” Iroh pointed out. “You are defensive about the forsaken for another reason entirely. Why do you hate them so?”

“Cowards who can’t bear to look upon the true face of war,” Zhao spit out, “they leave, sometimes in a way more dishonourable than even deserters do. Most don’t even have the decency to explain why they’d turn their backs on the military, their superiors, their… comrades.”

“Zhao,” Iroh said carefully, finally closing in on the question. “Has someone close to you ever become a forsaken soldier?”

Ah. Now there was a genuine reaction.

Zhao’s shoulders seemed to hunch in on themselves. He remained tight-lipped, but the way he withdrew was too telling. Whispers started up again, and this time they could even make out some words.

_‘… a pity…’_

_‘… weakness…’_

_‘… cared too much…’_

The last phrase came out like a sigh.

Zhao flinched for the first time in the night.

And then a gentle, mournful reassurance.

_‘… Akio does not hold a grudge…’_

“I don’t care if he doesn’t hold a grudge,” Zhao snarled into the whispering fog. It seemed to caress him right back, as if smoothing his hair and brushing against his cheeks.

 _Fingers,_ Iroh realized with barely suppressed awe and terror, _the fog looks like fingers._

As soon as he noticed, the fingers receded back into the main body of the fog at once.

A wail. The voices seemed to cry in unison.

_‘… not weak… not weak…’_

“Shut up,” Zhao hissed, tightening his hands into fists. He seemed to have forgotten he had an audience. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. It was weakness.”

“Who was Akio?” Iroh cut in firmly. The voices receded, waiting for an answer. Something sounded like an animal was scrambling across the deck in the distance with its claws pounding and clicking against the metal. Zuko drew the blanket tightly around him and stepped closer to his uncle, disregarding the fact there had only been a foot of space between them.

“A soldier,” Zhao sneered, “a soldier who served with me. He… he sought out my company during his time on the ship. Agni knows why.”

“Akio means ‘bright man.’” Iroh noted, “Perhaps he thought he’d bring some luminance to your life in the form of friendship.”

The fog swirled gently, as if in approval.

“I don’t give a fuck what his name means,” Zhao now clenched his hands against his upper arms, hunching into himself defensively. It seemed he had decided to forgo all pretences. “He’s not here anymore. That’s all that matters.”

“Is it truly? Why would the spirits mention his name, then?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zhao insisted again, flinty eyes darting to Iroh’s face. “All of that is in the past. There’s no use talking about it now.”

“Please,” Iroh took a step forward. “You do not have to keep up your mask. It will only hurt you more.”

Something in Zhao’s face wavered. “I _can’t_ –”

“I’m not Shu.” Iroh said firmly. “I won’t ask you to put aside your own feelings for the sake of pretending to be strong.”

“I’m not –”

One last push.

“True strength is cherishing your comrades. Did Shu ever have anyone standing on his side in the end?”

Silence.

Even the whispers in the fog were on standby, waiting with bated breath.

“I heard what happened in the end to Shu,” Iroh said, gently now. “He died alone. He had no one. He refused to engage with his equals, drove away his subordinates, and cast aside anyone who had ever stood by him, including…”

“Me.” Zhao finished for him. “I know. We had a conflict of interests. He never liked anyone showing him up, so…” he shrugged. “We parted ways. Don’t get me wrong, General Iroh. I felt no remorse. It was for the best.”

“Shu had never been a compassionate leader,” Iroh drove forward. “In fact, I happened to have overheard an instance surrounding a forsaken soldier on his ship a few years ago as we were leaving a war council. Do you know anything about that?”

Zhao’s face tightened. “Maybe,” he managed to grit out. “I’ve only ever experienced one jumper during my time with Shu.”

“Who was Akio to you, Zhao?”

“A nobody.”

The temperature dropped again.

“Yet he had sought out your company?”

“Not by my choice –”

“But he insisted on spending his time with you?” Iroh asked, relentless in his assault. He could not afford backtracking. To do so would push him behind the line in this battle of the wills.

“Yes, but – but –” Zhao swallowed.

“All soldiers need to spend time with their companions, Zhao. One cannot work continuously; it will only drive them towards an early grave. Akio must have wished for you to take a break from your ambitions.”

Zhao’s voice trembled ephemerally.

“He’d rope me into card games and Pai Sho,” Zhao recalled numbly, unsure where to begin so picking a memory at random. “He was the only one who wasn’t scared to spar with me. Not like I ever burned him, but he’d seek me out whenever we had to partner up. He… he traded stories with me.”

It was as if the floodgates had opened. Agni, why couldn’t he stop? It was spilling out of him freely now like a spile wrenched out of its cask.

“Sometimes he’d go stargazing with me. Somehow, he convinced me to teach him a little bit about celestial navigation. He was hopeless at it, but he’d listen to my ramblings anyway. Joked that I could make it as a storyteller and he’d travel along with me as musical accompaniment. We didn’t always get along, but he’d always make time for me even when nobody else would come close.” He swallowed again, hard, as if it would take back all the words he had inadvertently let loose.

“So you were friends.”

“I… I didn’t mind his company.”

“What happened to him?” Iroh asked, even though he was quite certain of the answer.

A keening wail bemoaning misery screeched beside them. They barely reacted.

“He jumped.” Zhao turned to Iroh, eyes frighteningly blank as he said flatly, “We don’t know why. He’d always seemed cheerful, upbeat… one night, he went out alone. And jumped. The watchman saw the whole thing.”

“And you lost a friend.” Iroh nodded gravely.

“He made his choice.” Zhao said with finality.

“Yes, he did. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t care for him. That doesn’t mean you didn’t want to do something for him. You cared, Zhao. You still care. As much as you’d like to pretend you don’t, you still have the capacity to care.” Iroh pointed out quietly. Enraged thunder tumultuously crossed Zhao’s expression as he bit out his next words.

“I don’t care.”

The fog swirled thicker.

“Zhao,” Iroh said solemnly, unflinching against the storm building in Zhao’s features. “Look me in the eyes and say that again.”

The admiral stared into the older man’s eyes steadily.

“I don’t care.” He repeated. Something cracked in his mask like lightning streaking across the sky.

“You’re lying.” Iroh stated confidently, sad but sure.

“SO WHAT IF I’M LYING?! IT DOESN’T CHANGE ANYTHING!”

The outburst threw Iroh and Zuko aback with surprise. Zhao had always seemed indomitable, incessantly unwavering and impervious to reactions outside of anger.

But Zuko recovered quickly. It was a far cry from the gentle reminiscence Zhao had displayed a few nights ago, but he now knew that Zhao wasn’t impervious from sharing his deeper thoughts and feelings. He just hadn’t considered the man was capable of explosive emotional flares that weren’t born out of exclusively anger.

To Iroh, it was his first time seeing something like this from Zhao. On the surface, it looked like the typical case of enraged shouting. It was easy to overlook the fact that there was something raw and cracked in his amber eyes, something that ran far deeper than pure anger ever could. He was opening up, Iroh realized, he was finally letting someone see behind his aloof, ruthless front. Zhao looked shocked himself. But then just as quickly, the familiar stoic mask clicked back into place as he reeled himself in.

“It was a moment of weakness,” Zhao hissed between clenched teeth, “and my comrades were weak. They requested to hold vigil and offer the rites you’d give for a comrade who had fallen honourably. They never should’ve put in the request.”

A harsh exhale.

“He _laughed_. Admiral Shu heard them out and then smiled. He _smiled_. He smiled like –”

_He smiled like how I did during the Agni Kai three years ago._

Zhao caught himself before the words escaped.

“– he smiled like it was a joke. And he was right. It was weakness. And we can’t afford to show weakness. It always comes back to burn you.”

Zuko opened his mouth, anger flashing in his eyes, but Iroh placed a mollifying hand on his arm, shaking his head. The retort died in his mouth as he watched Iroh cautiously approach Zhao.

“Why do you think it would burn you, Zhao?”

Zhao laughed cynically. “Because after Admiral Shu rejected their request, I procured a candle for them? Because I told them it was foolish, but gave it to them anyway? I said to them, I warned them, that I would give them the candle, but they were not to light it on the ship, that they could only do so once we had docked on the fucking barren wasteland we were heading towards. They were not to risk any chance of the superior officers catching wind that they had sympathy for a jumper.”

He shook his head. No tears, Iroh noticed, as if he had trained himself not to cry.

“And what did they do? They snuck out and lit the candle, even after I had explicitly warned them not to. They were caught, of course. Admiral Shu had them disposed of, _for weakness_. I was there to witness their demise. One of them told me they didn’t rat me out. They lied to Shu; told him they stole a candle from storage. As if I needed their protection. Shu wouldn’t have murdered me even if he knew the truth.”

“Oh, Zhao…” Iroh murmured, hand reaching out. Zhao shied away from his touch and Iroh obligingly let his hand drop. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I don’t blame myself.”

Iroh searched his eyes before nodding. “I believe you this time. But you are still affected by what happened.”

Zhao scoffed. “It’ll pass.”

“In time,” Iroh conceded, “but not if you continue denying your true feelings.”

“What?” Zhao snarled, his trademark temper flaring up again.

“You used rage to cope. You are allowed to be angry, but if you bottle it up and never give it an outlet, it will fester and blister, never to heal over. You must come to terms with it before you can move on.”

“I came to terms over it.” Zhao growled. “I slipped. They slipped. I lived. They didn’t. End of story.”

“You came to terms with death itself, but not with the reason why. It is not weakness to grieve for a fallen friend.” Iroh said firmly. “Admiral Shu’s reaction was dishonourable. You and your fellow soldiers showed compassion, and compassion is a strength.”

“It was weakness.” Zhao’s eyes narrowed. “I never made the same mistake again.”

“You wanted to, though.” Iroh pointed out quietly, too perceptive to fall for Zhao’s cold front. “Deep down, you did not regret the action. You only regretted they were caught. Giving them the candle was never a mistake to you.”

“It was stupid,” Zhao’s fisted his hands, smoke rolling from them to join the fog. “They deserved their punishment.”

The voices began hissing anew.

_“Liar, liar, always lying.”_

Zhao’s fists tightened, seething rage steadily building up.

“Zhao, please,” Iroh admonished sharply. “You cannot run from this. Not here, not when we are under the judgement of a thousand spirits. You cannot rely on lies or trickery here.”

“Get to the point. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to accept you were grieving. I want you to accept that it is not wrong to feel saddened over a friend’s death, no matter the circumstances under which it happened. I want you to accept giving a candle to those soldiers was not a mistake to you. You must come to terms with your feelings before you can move on with a clear mind. Denial will only make it stronger. Shu tried to mould you in his image, but this was something you could not bring yourself to fit into.”

Zhao heaved out another sigh, the anger leaving in one fell swoop against Iroh’s barrage of words, only to be replaced by a bone-deep weariness. “What of it? Even if that was true, even if I came to terms with what happened, it doesn’t change anything.” He gestured to the waters below. “We had a jumper today. We still witnessed another soldier transition into a forsaken soul today. Nothing I – _anyone_ does will help him now.”

Iroh touched Zhao’s shoulder lightly. “I may not be entirely familiar with customs within the navy, but I believe there is a traditional song of mourning used to relieve sailors from their duty. Music is one of the languages of the sea, one that naval officers fall back on in dire times. Perhaps you can begin to find closure if you start from there.”

“You are asking me to forgive him of his cowardice.”

“I am asking you to understand he had lost his way and drove himself in a corner he thought would lead to salvation.”

A long silence stretched as Zhao stared at his clasped hands on the railing contemplatively.

“… He didn’t have to.” Zhao said at last.

“This is what war does, Zhao. You cannot expect everyone to harden up in times of slaughter and bloodshed. Not everyone can respond in the same way you do. In fact, even the hardiest of fighters, the most resilient of soldiers, are worn down and oftentimes long for an easy way out. Nobody, not even those who seem untouchable, are exempt from needing a break.”

 _Please,_ Iroh thought, _see reason. Prove to me a part of the boy I remember still exists. Prove to me Jeong Jeong could still have hope for you._

Zhao sucked in a sharp breath and inexplicably turned to look at Zuko.

“Seashell necklaces?” He queried, barely louder than a whisper.

“Seashell necklaces.” Zuko confirmed, stepping closer.

Iroh watched Zhao give the tiniest of nods, mystified and uncomprehending of what was happening.

“What would you have me do then, General Iroh? This is something I have carried for years, and now you want me to unload it?”

“I will not force you to do anything,” Iroh said calmly. “I am not Shu. I will only say that you will be better off without the load on your back; loss is a heavy weight to carry and only gets heavier still if it is not addressed.”

“Shu would disagree. But then again, Shu never taught me the words of the song,” Zhao murmured quietly. “I learned it from elsewhere.”

“Who?” Iroh asked, despite knowing exactly who it was. He’d heard it many a time from the man; sung in despondent, gravelly tones as he mourned the loss of his closest confidants.

Zhao didn’t reply, his eyes containing the same far-off look as Jeong Jeong’s did when he was thinking of loss. Iroh placed a reassuring hand on his back and spoke gently.

“The choice is yours, Zhao.”

Zhao said nothing, staring back out into the fog with a weary air hanging heavily around him. His mind felt like a blur, a steady stream of incoherent thoughts that stumbled against each other in clumsy jolts.

Iroh stepped back, returning to Zuko’s side. The voices in the fog had receded but they were still entrapped in the thick curls of water vapour that cloaked them in a haze. Iroh and Zuko had only just settled into a rhythm of inhaling and exhaling with their respective candles when the first few words rang through the air, solemn and barely audible to the other two occupants on the deck.

 _“By Agni’s Eternal Light may we witness,”_ Zhao began, wide-eyed as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was doing.

_“The rest of those who fell fearless._

_Leave with strength and courage,_

_May your wandering soul flourish._

_Wrest from the mortal realm’s cruelty,_

_I relieve you of your duty.”_

The last notes had scarcely faded into the night when the flames from Iroh and Zuko’s candles flared brightly, as if they meant to reach towards the sky.

“I didn’t do that,” Zuko breathed in awe, “Uncle, did you?”

“No, Zuko.” Iroh replied, not taking his eyes off his own candle in wonderment. “I believe that was something more… otherworldly.” He lifted his head to smile at Zhao, his eyes twinkling merrily at the man’s surprised expression.

“I… I didn’t think that would change anything.” The admiral whispered, watching the flames shrink back down until they snuffed out by themselves. A thin trail of smoke was all that remained.

“ _You_ brought change,” Iroh gently corrected. “Nonjin is at peace now, thanks to you.”

Zhao looked hesitant.

“You don’t even need to salt the water anymore.” Iroh tacked on.

Zhao shook his head in reply. “No, there’s no harm in finishing the job.” He grabbed another handful of salt and sprinkled it into the sea, albeit more gently than the other times. He really hadn’t thought singing the stupid song would do any good. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend what made him do it in the first place. All he knew was that some part of him desperately wished to believe in Iroh’s words; that he could truly unlatch one of the chains of his past weighing him down like an anchor. He’d thought he was better than this. Shu had thought he was better than this.

A traitorous thought brushed against his mind, reminding him Shu had perished without illustrious title nor veneration.

As the last grains fell into the water, Zhao whirled around to pin the other two men with a glare. “Neither of you will breathe a word of what happened, do you understand me?” He threatened. Neither Iroh nor Zuko could bring themselves to feel even the slightest bit apprehensive.

“I would not dare to even dream of it.” Iroh assured him beneficially.

“You wouldn’t let me talk to anyone, anyway.” Zuko scoffed sarcastically. Zhao managed a small smirk at that. It was a weak, fragile thing but the sight of the familiar expression eased Zuko’s heart more than he’d ever care to admit.

They lapsed into comfortable silence, watching as the fog lightened into mist before it visibly started swirling away, leaving a clear view of the deck and ocean once more. They could see that the sky had cleared and the moon was casting its calming luminance onto the gently rippling waves, creating a serene scene as peace settled in once again.

“Hey look,” Zuko’s voice cut through the stillness, “one of the stars are really bright tonight.”

They all looked up. One star noticeably shone brighter than the rest.

“Guang-Lu…” Zhao breathed.

“The one which leads the deserters and the forsaken, is that right?” Iroh asked.

“Yeah…” Zuko replied in awe. “It’s shining so brightly.”

Indeed it was. On nights when Zhao couldn’t sleep, when the troubles of the world and his life latched its jaws around the back of his neck and refused to let him rest easy, he would often find himself wandering the dim corridors and the decks outside. More often than not, he’d stare up at the night sky and watch the moon glowing like a beacon carrying his hopes and dreams. Sometimes, his gaze would be drawn to fixate upon Guang-Lu.

On the occasion when his thoughts wandered particularly far, he’d wonder if Jeong Jeong was somewhere out there, staring at the same star as he was. That despite the insurmountable distance between them, both physically and metaphorically, they’d have their vision fixed on a common object.

Zhao exhaled shakily before lowering his head, too sickened by the sight of the star to keep looking. He tightly clutched the railings in front of him with shaking arms. He was tired. So very tired. Like a shroud of vacancy and exhaustion had settled over him with pertinacious vengeance. He closed his eyes, listening to the wind whistling past his face and the rumbling gurgles of the ocean below.

Iroh watched him sympathetically. Not for the first time, he wondered if this young man in front of him, head bowed and shoulders almost imperceptibly trembling from emotional taxation yet had shed no tears, was just another victim of propaganda, another soldier swallowed into the ranks of mindless complacency and blind service to a pretender calling himself Fire Lord.

He’d dismissed these thoughts before, after seeing multiple cruel feats performed with relish by this same man. But now, after bearing witness to the cracks in his façade, Iroh wondered if he had rejected the notion too early.

This time when Iroh went to drape a blanket over Zhao’s broad back, the man didn’t stop him. Zuko watched, amused as his uncle tried to pull the blanket over the admiral’s shoulders but was too short to properly tuck it into place. Zhao sighed exasperatedly and tugged the corners of the blanket securely around his own shoulders. Iroh smiled, patted Zhao’s back, and stepped away to continue gazing up at the stars.

To Zhao’s frustration, his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He flexed his fingers, trying to calm the tremors to no avail. It wasn’t due to cold, not at all. His inner fire and chi lines still burned as bright as ever beneath his skin. Plus, the spirits were gone, so it wasn’t due to some supernatural cause. He was just… quivering. He tried furling and unfurling his hands again, but the trembling obstinately refused to quell.

And then a warm hand clutched his fingers. A smaller grip than his own yet offering a comfort Zhao had felt very few times in his life. He raised his head and met Zuko’s eyes. After a moment’s pause, the prince turned his head to look steadfastly out to the ocean, but the warmth of his reassuring gaze lingered.

Zhao slowly curled his thumb over the hand in his, holding it like a lifeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iroh: Zhao, it is good to express your emotions  
> Zhao: I'll raise you one better, I'm gonna bottle them until I literally crack under the pressure and explode in an emotional outburst  
> Iroh: Zhao no  
> Zhao: Zhao yes  
> Zuko, having the same coping mechanisms: Zhao yes
> 
> A bit of an update on my personal life as well: I've decided to take a gap year before I consider any postgrad options. It was hell navigating uni throughout last year cos of all the constant switching back and forth from online to in-person plus the uncertainty of circumstances due to the pandemic. So I'm stepping out of my comfort zone in academia to focus more on work and writing. 
> 
> I'm happy to say that this decision has freed up so much time for me to sit down and write. Full disclosure: I'm hardly an experienced writer - this fic is actually my first serious go at writing lmaooooo so I'm super grateful for the support, it means so much to me and has been really encouraging :')
> 
> Anyway, thought I'd share this just in case anyone else has felt like they've made some pretty big life decisions due to the pandemic. You aren't alone and I hope you're doing what's best for you :)


	12. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night finally over, Zhao and Zuko settle back into routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice moment of reprieve before we dive into the second half of the fic.
> 
> ngl there's some second-hand embarrassment in this one. I enjoyed it a little too much hehe

Dawn eventually broke, and the sight of Agni’s rays stretching across the horizon had never been as much of a comforting sight as it was for the three weary people seconds away from slumping against the railings.

Iroh gathered up their blankets, neatly folding them back into his basket. He took what remained of the candles and tossed them into the ocean with a quick, muttered prayer. Stretching languidly and yawning widely, he proclaimed with a tired smile, “We have made it through the night with a newfound sense of peace. I will head off to catch up on some sleep soon, I hope you two will follow my lead.”

Zhao rubbed his eyes. “There’s a few things I need to take care of first, but we’ll make sure to rest.”

Iroh patted Zhao and Zuko’s shoulders before heading inside with the basket hanging off his arm. Zhao untied the white ribbon fluttering in the wind and held it for a moment, hesitating. For a jumper, the last rite to be carried out was to set the ribbon alight, symbolically showing that there was no peace to be found for the forsaken soldier. Akin to spitting on someone’s grave.

It didn’t feel right though, not after the events of last night. Not after Zhao had… let the soldier – _Nonjin_ – free. He sighed, holding his hand out over the railing, and unfurled his fingers. The ribbon caught onto a stray breeze and was carried out, where the swells of the ocean seemed to reach out for it, as if to catch it in an embrace. The ribbon was swallowed up into the depths of the sea and with it, the last vestiges of leaden turmoil in his chest lightened. Perhaps in some roundabout way, he had found rectitude in a situation he’d thought only offered tragedy.

“Come on,” Zhao murmured to Zuko, who watched the proceedings with tired, but bright eyes. The prince nodded, slipped the helmet on, and followed Zhao back into the body of the ship.

The admiral yawned widely as they walked through the hallway, lassitude setting in all at once. The last time he’d had to carry out a jumper’s – Akio’s – rites was with Admiral Shu, who had passed the night with him by playing card games and whinging about how much he’d missed the brothels and port whores.

Completely disrespectful, but who was Zhao to question his superior?

They’d experienced footsteps and flitting apparitions, which Shu had simply thrown slurs and rude gestures at while flinging salt in their general direction. Zhao had chewed at his lip covertly, biting back the protests that welled up in his throat.

It was honestly a wonder how they weren’t continually haunted by restless spirits after that sham of a display.

When dawn broke, Shu had nonchalantly sent the white ribbon up in flames and scattered the ashes into the ocean. Then he proceeded to loudly announce he was retiring for the rest of the day and allowed Zhao free reign of the ship, completely disregarding the fact he was only a captain amongst several commanders. He’d jumped on the opportunity of course, not wishing to squander the chance to prove his leadership skills. He had accomplished much that day, setting several plans of his own in motion. No one had argued. Everyone knew Zhao was Shu’s favourite and prized protégé, after all. His orders had been carried out without fuss and Shu had been more than impressed by the end of the day.

But that was then, and this was now.

Simply put, Zhao was exhausted. It was by far the first time he’d had to stay up through the night, but the combined stress of staving off a potential evil spirit, inadvertently spilling one of his closest-kept secrets, having a therapy session of all things with Iroh, and relieving a deserter of their duty sucked out all of his energy and left him feeling like an empty husk. Usually he was exceptional at going without sleep, but right now he felt more drained than he ever had in his entire life.

As they walked through the corridors, the soldiers they passed bowed, deeper than what regulations strictly demanded. It wasn’t a dramatic change – only a few degrees lower to convey sincere gratitude and respect. Zhao waved them off as they went, somewhat unsettled by the sheer gratefulness in some of the soldiers’ eyes. At the end of the corridor stood Captain Ito, who greeted them with the same bow, deep with earnestness.

“Were there any disturbances during the night?” Zhao questioned tiredly.

“The cabin Nonjin stayed in reported knocking on the door several times early in the night. They didn’t open the door of course, and it quickly receded. Other cabins heard screaming outside and footsteps shuffling in the hallway, also in the early hours of night. Other than those instances, there was peace for the rest of the night. You protected us well, sir. Thank you.” Captain Ito bowed again.

Zhao fidgeted. His actions hadn’t been for the sake of probity by any means. It could be argued they sourced from purely selfish reasoning. He simply hadn’t wanted to take any risk of his mission becoming compromised. It shouldn’t bother him, seeing the genuine gratitude proffered to him for a duty he was bound to carry out anyway.

He refused to think about what that implied and instead said, “Good. Inform the commanders to remobilize. We will resume sailing as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And,” Zhao stifled a yawn, “get the rest of the captains together for debriefing in an hour.”

Captain Ito’s eyes flicked over his face, as if cataloguing every tell that belied his exhaustion. “Sir, we would not be against putting it off until you have had the opportunity to rest.”

“I’ll be fine,” Zhao insisted stubbornly.

“Sir,” Captain Ito stated firmly, showing rare backbone, “we have collectively agreed that it would be in your best interest to rest. You have been just through an ordeal nobody envies.”

“I don’t need your mothering –”

“Sir, with all due respect, the entire crew would like you to rest. Just for a while. We have no doubt you are capable of making sound decisions at present, but we also have absolutely no qualms with you taking the time to rest and recover from your ordeal.” Captain Ito smoothened his voice, quiet insistence brimming beneath his tone.

Zhao raked a hand down his face. He must be more tired than he thought if he was letting Captain Ito nag him like this without his temper running dangerously short. More accurate to say, it was more difficult to light the fuse when lethargy felt like it was coating his entire being.

“Inform the captains to meet for debriefing this afternoon then,” Zhao sighed, relenting. The ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of Captain Ito’s mouth as he bowed in deference.

“Also,” Ito began again, “the head cook was wondering if you would like to eat something before you retire. They weren’t able to prepare much, but the kitchen staff have made a few soups for breakfast.”

“I – alright,” Zhao scrubbed his hand against his eyes, not in the mood to argue. “Have someone bring two bowls to my cabin. Preferably something light.”

“There’s miso soup. Or vegetable if you’d like something a little more filling.”

Zhao thought it over for a moment. He’d originally wanted something very light, but his body was screaming for substance now that filling food was mentioned. From what he could tell by the prodding at his lower back by a persistent finger, the prince was on the same boat.

“Vegetable will do. Has anyone checked on General Iroh yet?”

“The galley was the first place he went to, sir.” Ito reported, smiling slightly.

“Of course,” Zhao snorted, too tired to feel amusement in its full brunt. “As you were, Captain.”

Captain Ito bowed once more as Zhao and Zuko made their leave. They began heading in the direction of Zhao’s quarters, feeling dead on their feet. Now that the prospect of rest had drawn closer than they had originally anticipated, the heaviness of exhaustion seemed to double its weight with every step they took.

Whispers followed them as they passed by. Zuko had to strain his ears to hear, curious about what events the other soldiers had experienced.

“… heard scraping sometime in the night. Nobody slept. It was terrifying.”

“… even when daylight broke, there was this fear something was still outside…”

“… scary enough when you’re inside a locked cabin. I don’t know how I’d survive staying outside…”

“… Admiral Zhao kept watch the entire night for us, didn’t think he’d ever do something like that…”

“… good thing he had company; I wouldn’t wish standing out there alone even on my worst enemy…”

The eyes that followed them held newfound respect and earnest admiration, especially after they saw the fatigued slump in the admiral’s usually ramrod straight posture. But the praise seemed to roll off Zhao’s back like water, too tired to engage or puff himself up like he usually would.

They’d just stumbled through the doorway when the soup arrived, along with a small basket of freshly baked bread. The enticing smell was a cruel reminder of how truly famished they were despite the exhaustion gnawing away at their minds.

“Just leave it outside when you’re done, sir.” The stewardess chirped brightly. “No need to send for someone.”

“Sure,” Zhao agreed, lacking the energy to address the casual tone she used to speak to him.

“Do you require anything else, sir?”

“No, that will be all. Dismissed.”

She bowed deeply and closed the door behind her. As soon as the door shut with a soft clang, they fell upon the bowls, ravenously tearing into the soup and bread. It was some sort of rich, fragrant tomato-based soup, so thick it might’ve been more fitting to call it stew. Paired with the bread, which to their combined delight was crispy on the outside and pillowy soft on the inside, they found themselves wolfing down their meals at an almost frantic pace.

Courtly manners went out the window. They meant nothing in the face of exhaustion-driven hunger. Zuko finished first and prodded the rest of the breadbasket to Zhao, who looked like he needed the calories more. The admiral tore into it immediately and pointed towards the washroom.

“You go shower first. I’ll handle clean-up.”

Zuko muttered his thanks and got up despite his body’s protests to lie on the floor and sleep for an entire day.

Not even the sensation of water sluicing off him could chase away the urge to rest. By the time they had both showered, their eyelids were barely able to be kept open for more than a few seconds at a time.

“I got someone to knock at noon,” Zhao yawned. “Can’t sleep for the whole day, not if we want to sleep through the night as well.” He was practically slurring his words by the time he reached the end of his sentence.

“Okay,” Zuko agreed, brain foggy.

That was all they managed to say to each other. They were out like lights before their heads even hit their pillows.

* * *

A few hours later, knocking at the door abruptly jolted both firebenders awake. Zuko groaned, furiously rubbing at his eyes while Zhao stirred from his bed, hollering a gravelly “I’m up! I’m up!” at the door. The knocking ceased and a “yes, sir!” was shouted in return before footsteps scurried back down the hallway.

Zuko sat up, blearily blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Zhao had already clambered out of bed and was slipping on his uniform with dextrous hands.

“Hurry up, get dressed.” Zhao said gruffly, snapping on his bracers.

“What’s the rush?” Zuko did not whine, thank you very much.

“There’s a lot of things to do. I’d like to get started on them as soon as possible.” On went the chest guard.

“Why can’t we just take it easy for the day?” Zuko complained. “You need to slow down. That’s what Uncle would say.”

“If it were up to your uncle, we’d still be docked at port.” Zhao retorted. “Go wash your face if you’re still feeling tired.”

Zuko sighed and reluctantly dragged himself towards the washroom. Zhao secured his chest guard as he sauntered over to his desk, idly glancing through the scattered documents. He needed to debrief the captains this afternoon but luckily there weren’t any preparations he had to make for it.

Then there were a few hastily scrawled plans he’d yet to finalize and commit to memory.

Not to mention a map Captain Yusun had drawn up for him detailing fleet formation once they entered the waters of the Northern Water Tribe… wait.

He snatched up the map and scanned it, mentally tallying up the little ink blots representing each ship of the fleet.

He came up two short.

Was he tired to the point it had taken a toll on his simple arithmetic?

He counted again, carefully, muttering the numbers under his breath to make sure he wasn’t losing count.

Still two short.

The map crinkled under his grip as he fumed. Unacceptable. Truly deplorable how his captain had completely overlooked two entire ships from something as important as _fleet formation before the eve of war._ Granted, Captain Yusun was newly minted, but Zhao had no idea he’d promoted an absolute _fucking idiot_.

Zuko came in at that moment, wiping the last beads of water from his face. He took one look at Zhao’s stormy expression and backed up a couple steps. “Uh, are you okay?”

“We’re going to the mess hall. Now.” Zhao strode out the door without preamble, leaving Zuko to hastily jam on his helmet and scamper after him in a bid to keep up with his furious pace. It was just shy of half past noon, the time when most soldiers would be taking lunch, and Zhao did not give a single flying fuck that he was about to cause a disturbance.

He barged into the mess hall and made a beeline directly for Captain Yusun, completely disregarding the surrounding soldiers as he cleared a space, slammed the map in front of the poor captain and snarled out a demand for him to explain _why exactly is the fleet formation missing two ships?_

Conversation in the mess hall quietened but picked up again after a beat as everyone tried to pretend there was nothing out of the ordinary happening whilst simultaneously stealthily eavesdropping. Not that they needed to, Zhao’s incensed voice carried all throughout the room.

“A simple matter of checking over the numbers, captain! Any fool can do it, so tell me why _you_ can’t!”

Captain Yusun was evidently not having a great day as he stammered out answers under the wrath of an enraged admiral.

In the meantime, Iroh serenely passed by with a bowl of stew while Zhao was still in the middle of chewing out Yusun and shook his head in amusement. He handed a large apple to Zuko from the depths of his seemingly bottomless sleeves and winked, keeping his voice hushed, “I imagine you and the admiral haven’t had a chance to eat lunch yet; he really ought to take it easy for once. Best keep your strength up, young man.”

Zuko flushed, grateful for the mask covering his face as he accepted the apple obediently.

“Thank you, General Iroh.” He said awkwardly, giving a quick bow of gratitude to his uncle. His mouth felt like cotton and his tongue tingled with unfamiliarity as they formed words that felt incredibly foreign. Uncle had and will always be Uncle in Zuko’s mind, so to address him in such a manner left him with a strange taste in his mouth.

Even if it showed, Iroh simply grinned at him before heading off, calling out to a now increasingly familiar face, “Shiki, my friend! We haven’t had our daily game of Pai Sho yet! I’ll eat with you, then we can go for a round or two! How about that, eh?”

Zuko grinned from underneath his helmet when he spotted the soldier who had neglected his messenger hawk duties a week ago turn ashen. Zhao also paused in his tirade when he heard Iroh’s greeting to look up and send a bladed smile at Shiki, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Shiki immediately fixed his face into something more welcoming. “That would be delightful, General.” He gave a strained grin, shooting pleading eyes towards Zhao, who looked immensely pleased with himself.

“Isn’t it lovely how Shiki so enjoys playing Pai Sho with General Iroh?” Zhao smugly asked Officer Minho, who was coincidentally sitting nearby.

“Yes sir, very lovely.” Minho replied, wrestling back his wince. The admiral chuckled shortly before he returned to hounding Captain Yusun. While he was waiting for the hounding to be over, Zuko dug out his dagger and got to work cutting the apple into slices. He was aware he’d have to offer some to Zhao. It didn’t seem fair that his guard got to eat while the admiral continued to work, after all. Well, if ‘work’ included relentlessly questioning hapless soldiers.

“Apple?” He asked Zhao, offering the first slice. The other man barely glanced at him before nodding and taking it out of Zuko’s fingers. The second slice went to Zuko, who very carefully lifted his helmet just enough to only reveal his mouth.

He didn’t think much of handing Zhao apple slices. Having spent the past few weeks unlearning what he thought was unerring truth about the other man, sharing food with him hardly seemed like an inconceivable idea anymore. But to Lieutenant Ikun, who was sitting right next to them and teasing the peas in his meal into a pile on the corner of his plate with his chopsticks (peas were the bane of his existence; they were mushy and gross and had that awful taste that overpowered everything else), this was a sight he’d never thought he’d ever see in his lifetime.

He watched Newbie feed apple slices to the admiral as one would do for their pet rabbit-moose in disbelief. Zhao didn’t even blink, accepting slice after slice of apple placed in his hand and shoving them in his mouth as Yusun tried to make sense of the map with his superior looming over him. Ikun exchanged a bewildered look with Minho, silently mouthing, _‘are you seeing this too?’_

Minho nodded back, eyes wide and barely able to keep his mouth from dropping. It was the reaction of everyone within the general vicinity, to be fair. They all knew Admiral Zhao as a proud man. They also all knew that he was someone who refused to be seen as anything else other than a driven, ambitious leader of relentless devotion to his mission. So devoted, in fact, that Zhao rarely ate in the company of others, much preferring to take his meals alone in order to wrap up quickly and get back to work.

As such, it was a rather odd sight to see him here in the mess hall, eating apple slices given to him by his guard. Not only that, the methodical approach he had to eating was an abrupt reminder that he was not cut from the same cloth as most soldiers. For someone who had practically lived on water their whole life, the ways of the sea still could not wash away the manners deeply ingrained into someone who was born a noble. Close-mouthed chewing, careful, deliberate bites and a hand raised to block his mouth from view if he had to speak with his mouth full – it was a far cry from the, ahem, _rougher_ manners of many sailors.

Not that there was much to be envied beyond the surface level perks of noble life. The sea symbolized freedom, but nobility more often than not signified entrapment.

Eventually Zuko ran out of apple and began fiddling with his knife out of boredom as Zhao snapped out another order. 

“Yes, sir. I’ll have it updated at once.”

“There’s a debrief for all captains in the afternoon. You better have it ready by then.”

Captain Yusun bowed his head. “Of course, sir. I sincerely apologize for my blunder.”

“Actions, Captain, not words, will get you out of the boiling pot you’ve just landed yourself in.”

“I understand, sir.”

Zhao shook his head and slid the scrunched-up map closer to the man. “Get it done well and I might find myself in a more forgiving mood.”

Yusun bowed again. Satisfied, Zhao beckoned for Zuko to follow him. But just as he’d only taken a few steps, a passing soldier carrying a bowl walked right into him and spilled its contents all over his chest.

All chatter in the mess hall ceased and horrified silence enveloped the entire room. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Or in this case, the shaking of the luckless soldier’s knees underneath his uniform.

“S-Sir, I – I am s-s-s-so sorry…” the soldier’s lips were trembling and his face had gone ghostly white with fear. Zhao stared down at the mess over his entire front before fixing blank eyes on the soldier’s face. 

Zuko winced, not wishing to see the results of the pending explosion ticking down. He reached out to clutch Zhao’s lower arm, murmuring softly, “It was just an accident, sir.”

Any anger that may have been building up inside Zhao left in one fell swoop as he slapped a hand against his forehead and groaned, “The day’s barely started and it seems to be made up of a string of accidents, hasn’t it?”

The soldier stared at the admiral, cowering. If fear had a smell, it would be a veritable stench at that moment.

“Help me out of this,” Zhao gruffly ordered Zuko, reaching up to untie one side of the chest guard. Zuko obeyed, and once the other side had been loosened, they lifted the entire piece of armour off over the admiral’s head. Zhao looked it over with distaste before curtly handing it over to the soldier, who took the armour with shaking hands.

“Get that cleaned up and send it to my quarters when you’re done.”

And with that, Zhao left the mess hall, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

Nobody noticed Iroh proudly smiling into his stew.

* * *

“Where are we going?” Zuko asked. Now that he felt more awake, he realized he was feeling ravenous. The apple slices did little to shave off his hunger and only served to whet his appetite.

“Kitchens,” Zhao replied, storming through the adjacent corridor like a man on a mission. He made a rather odd picture with his top half clothed only in a simple tunic while his lower half was heavily armoured. “Picking up food. Hope you don’t mind something fast.”

Not that he cared, obviously.

“Can’t you just take a break for once?” Zuko groused. “You’re probably the worst workaholic I’ve ever seen.”

Zhao frowned. “I need to prepare for debrief –”

“That’s in the afternoon.” Zuko argued. Then an idea flashed through his mind. “Hey, why don’t we picnic on the roof or something? We can spy on your men again,” Zuko wheedled, desperate to have a moment’s rest, “that sounds fun, right?”

Zhao stopped in the middle of the corridor, considering it for a minute. While it was true that planning what he was going to say in the debrief wouldn’t take too long (and admittedly there wasn’t much else to do for now), was he really going to spend his precious time people watching on the rooftop of his ship like an audacious child?

He hadn’t done that since he was a boy, back when he’d clamber to the highest point he could in his family home to await his father’s return so he could pester him (as long as he hadn’t brought company back with him). Back to the matter on hand, though. Would he stoop down to that level just for some flighty crumb of entertainment?

… Yes.

“Fine,” Zhao said, trying to stomp down the spark of playful mischief he hasn’t felt in a long, long, time. “We’ll have a picnic on the roof.”

It sounded even more ridiculous saying it out loud. He never would have thought he’d ever string those individual words into the same sentence, but he couldn’t quite quell the swell of eagerness in his chest. It’d been a startling trend, he’d realized, when he found that his inhibitions loosened with alarming ease after having been forced to spend weeks in close proximity to the princeling. 

So much so that when they entered the galley, he asked more than demanded, “Are you able to pack a lunch for two?”

The head cook blinked back at him, no doubt surprised that the admiral would appear in the galley. And in such an odd state of dress no less. High-ranking officers tended to avoid ‘unseemly’ places because they thought it was demeaning to breathe the same air as lower-ranking crewmembers. Although, there had been the whole fruit fiasco a while back where he supposedly wanted to feed the komodo rhinos. Perhaps his presence here wasn’t so unbelievable after all.

And never questioning Zhao was probably the singular reason why the head cook had lasted so long serving under Zhao without stoking his ire.

“Would rice balls suffice, sir?” He asked politely.

“That’ll do.” Zhao nodded. The head cook barked a few orders to the rest of the cooks as he began digging out a couple rice paddles.

“Can we get that in a basket?” Zuko piped up. The bemused head cook looked questioningly at Zhao, who pinched the bridge of his nose in chagrin.

“Get it in a basket.” He sighed. Yes, he’d agreed to a picnic, but no, he was not about to have a childish argument with the prince in front of the entire kitchen staff.

“Yes, sir.” The cook produced a basket out of seemingly nowhere and lined it with a few cloths. “Would you like tea to go with your lunch, sir?” He asked, hand hovering over a teapot.

Zhao shot down the proposition quickly. “No, we won’t have easy access to water.”

“We can prepare a tray for you, sir.” The cook replied amenably.

“That won’t be necessary –” Zhao began, only to have Zuko interject again.

“Just put it in the basket.”

“It’ll spill.” Zhao admonished. The prince was not dissuaded.

“It’ll be fine.”

“I doubt even you can carry a _full pot of tea_ to where we’re going without spilling.” Zhao retorted incredulously.

Zuko tilted his chin up in defiance. “I accept that challenge.”

The disbelieving expression on Zhao’s face remained. “Don’t be stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if you’re confident in your abilities.” Zuko insisted stubbornly.

“There is such a thing called overconfidence.”

“There is also such a thing called talent.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Zhao threw his hands up in frustration, “But if you spill a single drop, you are cleaning this ship from top to bottom without help!”

“It won’t come to that,” Zuko assured smugly. “Just watch me.”

“I’ll watch you make a fool of yourself –”

“Admiral Zhao? May I have a word with you? Commander Hiro’s just sent a messenger hawk about a pressing matter.” Captain Ito poked his head through the doorway, yelling over the general din of the kitchens.

“We’ll discuss it outside,” Zhao called back. Then to Zuko, he sent a scathing glare and hissed at him to stay where he was.

“Yes, sir.” Zuko replied airily to Zhao’s back as the other man started moving towards Captain Ito. Free from Zhao’s presence, he chirped to the head cook, “Green tea, please. It’s pretty hot today, too. Can you make it cold?”

The cook obliged, motioning to one of the workers to start brewing the tea. But while the tea leaves were being tipped into the stout teapot, he hesitated at Zuko’s second request. “Would, ah, would the admiral object?”

“No,” Zuko reassured him confidently. “He won’t mind.”

The cook squinted at him with obvious dubiousness painted across his features. “… Are you sure?”

Zuko did not go through weeks of breaking down the man’s walls for nothing. Sure, they started out with Zhao calling all the shots, but Zuko liked to think he had become increasingly better at making his demands met and wrestling back control over _their_ decisions – he was not about to let anyone doubt his newfound abilities.

“Even if he did, you let me worry about it.” Zuko said firmly.

“Oh, let him.” One of the kitchen workers popped up over the head cook’s shoulders before he could reply, grinning cheekily. She winked at Zuko, stage-whispering, “You can trust Zhao not to murder this one for pushing him around.”

“Thank you,” Zuko smiled back, pleased someone had recognized that he had sway when it came to making decisions on the ship.

“‘Course, hun.” She tossed him another quick smile as she moulded one of the rice balls into a compact shape. “Tell me love, what’s Zhao _really_ like behind closed doors?”

“Ichika!” Another girl snapped, “Don’t ask questions that could get you in trouble!”

“It’s fine,” Zuko attempted to placate them, “I don’t mind.”

He felt like he’d said something wrong though when everyone’s heads whipped over to stare at him with a far too interested gleam in their eyes.

“See?” Ichika smiled with a frightening, predatory look on her face. “He doesn’t mind. What a sweetheart.”

Zuko flushed, unsure why he was starting to feel an innate itch to _get out_.

“Back to my question,” Ichika continued, not giving him the opportunity to back away. “What’s Zhao like in private?”

“Um,” Zuko floundered for an answer. “Pretty much the same?”

“Really?” She looked disappointed. “Does he… force you to do anything?”

“Not really?” Zuko replied, slightly confused by her wording. “No? He doesn’t make me do anything I really don’t want to do.”

She looked relieved. “Oh, that’s very good news, hun.”

The other girl interrupted with an intense look on her face. “Is he rough?”

Ichika laughed, “And you told me off for asking questions that could get me in trouble!”

The girl stuck her tongue out before turning her attention back to Zuko. “Well?” She demanded, “Is he?”

“I mean, in a way?” Zuko asked, feeling even more confused. Wouldn’t she know? Outside of subtle manipulation, Zhao was a rather blunt and direct person. He couldn’t see why that would change even in private.

Although, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yes, Zhao was brusque and callous, but just the same, he had his moments of softness. Thinking back to their past heart-to-hearts, Zuko couldn’t help blurting out something to defend against the misconception.

“He can be surprisingly gentle,” the confession poured out, “he ditches the attitude sometimes to make me feel better. It’s – um, kind of… sweet? You know – in his own way, I guess.” He made a face. “That was weird to say.”

But it seemed to enrapture the various staff members surrounding him. More than one let out a soft sigh and started fanning themselves with their hands.

“Oh, this is so juicy.” Someone in the back giggled. “I never thought he could be like that.”

“Neither did I,” Zuko admitted. “I guess you just need to get to know him.”

“He wouldn’t touch any of us even with a ten-foot-long pole,” a kitchen aid yelled from the sink where he was scrubbing the dishes. “As of now, you’re the only person we’ve ever seen get close to him.”

“Really?” Zuko frowned. Although truth be told, it wasn’t too surprising after a moment’s speculation. Zhao always did seem to be more of a lone wolf. He’d never actively sought out his men outside of official business, not even with the handpicked guards who flanked him when he disembarked the ship into foreign territory.

“Yep,” Ichika confirmed. “And that’s why we’re taking the opportunity to ask things we’d _never_ ask to his face. Anyone got another burning question?”

Someone piped up from the back. “Are you guys serious, or is this just a one-off sort of thing?”

Zuko hesitated, bewildered. What did that question even mean? Why wouldn’t it be serious? He thought the position of personal guard came attached with the implications of long-term commitment. Personal guards were kept close, both so they could adapt to the daily schedule of their charge, and to invoke loyalty from prolonged close contact.

Then again, he wasn’t really a guard. On top of that, this whole thing started off as an alliance. Work together to bring in the Avatar plus topple the North, and then they’ll part ways. Although, the prospect of working with Zhao beyond this expedition no longer carried the same dread as it once did.

The kitchen workers were still waiting for an answer so Zuko blurted out the closest thing he could to the truth. He was a terrible liar, even he knew that. But he was also aware that the best lies were always the closest to the truth.

“It started off as a one-time thing, but I guess it’s pretty serious now.”

There was a rustle of excitement, cries of delight, and to Zuko’s further confusion, an exchange of money within the group. Ichika in particular radiated an extremely smug air around her as disgruntled hands passed coins along to her.

Then a girl surged forward, clasping Zuko’s hands in hers as she peered up at him with flushed cheeks. “Is he…” she whispered conspiratorially, “is he… you know… big?” She near squeaked out the last word, face turning impossibly more vermilion. The gaggle of workers flustered as one, quickly quietening down again as they eagerly awaited his answer.

“Uh…” Zuko blinked. Was this a trick question? Surely they knew what their own admiral looked like. Even from a distance, Zhao towered over most of his men. And he was a broad man as well. His presence alone drew eyes whenever he entered the room.

“Yes…? Obviously he is…” Zuko answered hesitantly. He immediately flinched back when a chorus of squeals pierced his ears. The girl who asked the question buried her face in her hands, face so flushed it was like all the blood in her entire body had relocated to her cheeks.

Zuko didn’t think he’d ever been so confused in his life. Why were they reacting like this?

“Oh spirits…” Ichika shrieked, giggling madly. “Honey, you’re not obligated to answer _every question…_ ”

“But what does that have to do with –”

Zhao chose that moment to re-enter the room. Silence abruptly fell and Zuko paused in the middle of his query.

“Oh, hey.” He lamely said instead, not knowing what to say, but needing to say _something_ to fill the awkward silence.

“Hi?” Zhao raised an eyebrow, pointedly glancing around the assembled crow surrounding Zuko. “… What’s going on here?”

“Um,” Zuko started, unsure of where to even begin.

“Nothing, sir.” Ichika chirped, smile only the tiniest bit strained. “We’ve finished preparing the picnic basket.”

Somehow, miraculously, while Zuko had been incapacitated with questions fired at him from every corner of the room, the picnic basket had indeed been fully packed.

“Alright,” Zhao gave her an odd look but didn’t press. Then he nodded at the basket sitting on the table. “Well? It was your idea to have tea. You’re the one carrying it.”

Zuko shrugged. He could admit it was his idea in the first place, so he hauled the basket onto one arm without complaint. He couldn’t help wondering with amusement why there was a picnic basket available in the first place. One wouldn’t expect many opportunities to have a picnic to arise when surrounded by nothing but endless miles of ocean.

Still, he supposed it counted as a strike of serendipity.

They left behind their gaggle of onlookers and passed Iroh while they were crossing the deck. He had set up a table in the middle of the main deck and was playing Pai Sho with a disgruntled Shiki, who immediately straightened up and plastered on a too-wide smile at the sight of Zhao.

“Admiral Zhao, where are you two heading off to?” Iroh asked, laying down a tile on the board.

“Lunch with a view.” Zhao gestured to the expanse of ocean next to them, the calm waters blue and crystalline.

“I can understand that sentiment,” Iroh chuckled, sipping his tea. “I asked Shiki here if we could play out in the open today and enjoy this lovely weather. He’s been an absolute delight catering to my every whim; I’m quite flattered, honestly.”

“Excellent,” Zhao smiled sharply at Shiki, “I do hope you’ll keep up this level of hospitality for General Iroh.”

“Of course, sir.” He agreed nervously, sweat beading at his forehead.

“He’s actually in a spot of trouble right now,” Iroh said conversationally, “there’s very few moves he can make to get out of my trap. Maybe you’d like to lend a hand, admiral?”

Zhao had to fight back a snicker but compliantly surveyed the board. His smile faded when he saw one particular tile still had its full repertoire of moves available. He’d never thought too much of it before, rarely using it himself, but… that wasn’t the sole reason for his hesitation.

After a beat, he reached out and played the tile.

“The white lotus gambit? Interesting move.” Iroh remarked, raising an eyebrow and levelling an unreadable look at Zhao.

“It eludes your trap,” Zhao replied, resisting the urge to fidget under his gaze. “It’d be a waste not to use it.”

“It’s still a surprising move,” Iroh said, nodding sagely. “Most people tend to overlook the advantages the white lotus tile offers.” Here, he not so subtly coughed and glanced at Zuko.

“If it has use to it, then you would do well seeking opportunity to utilize it.” Zhao shrugged, eyes straying back to the white lotus tile. The distant sound of a splash echoed faintly in the back of his mind.

Iroh offered a slight smile. “A good observation, Admiral. Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your lunch. I hear you have a debrief later.”

“Ah, yes.” Zhao dragged his gaze back to Iroh’s face. “I will see you later, General Iroh.”

Iroh bowed his head in farewell which was quickly mimicked by Shiki. Zhao and Zuko walked off, unaware of the studious stare Iroh was drilling into the admiral’s back.

Thankfully, there was no one around when they reached the rooftop. Zuko adjusted the basket, ensuring he had a secure hold on it while Zhao climbed up first, taking his usual running start to help push him up the walls. Only this time, he barely had to scramble, managing to grip onto the awning with a single leap. Then it was just a simple matter of swinging up, which he did with far more ease than before. Zuko followed suit, carefully balancing the picnic basket on one arm.

“Hey, you made it up faster than usual.” Zuko remarked, setting down the basket.

“It must’ve been the armour weighing me down,” Zhao noted before immediately turning his attention on the basket, flipping up the lid and gingerly lifting out the teapot, checking for any signs of spillage around it or within the basket itself.

He found nothing.

Not a drop had spilled.

He took off the lid, peering into the pot.

It was full.

_What?_

“What…?”

Zuko burst into smug laughter at the completely dumbfounded look on Zhao’s face. The other man snapped his head up to stare at Zuko.

“How?”

“I told you,” Zuko smirked, folding his arms in superiority. “Talent.”

“That… that makes no sense.” Zhao said faintly, staring back down into the pot. It was impossible. The prince had swung himself up. No matter how careful he was, there should’ve been enough momentum to rock the tea inside. By the laws of physics, there should have been enough motion to spill the tea.

“You can bask in my glory later,” Zuko grinned, removing his helmet. “I really want a drink now.”

Zhao shook his head, still stupefied, but obediently poured out two cups of cold tea and handed one of them to Zuko. They took a sip, and Zhao promptly pulled a face.

“What’s wrong?” Zuko asked, concerned. He peered down into his cup but found nothing amiss. It didn’t taste off either. Actually, Zuko didn’t even know if tea could go off.

“Nothing, it’s just –” Zhao sniffed his cup. “Whoever brewed this tea steeped it for too long. It’s too bitter. The flavour’s completely ruined.”

“Just tastes like cold leaf juice to me.” Zuko said doubtfully, taking another drink. Zhao shot him a look of disgust. It was disturbing how uncannily similar he looked to Iroh whenever Zuko said the same thing around him.

“I don’t even know where to begin with your palate for teas,” Zhao pushed the cup away from himself. “Ugh, I think I’ve been spoiled by your uncle’s tea.”

“You’re not gonna finish that?” Zuko asked, pointing to Zhao’s rejected cup.

“I think I’d sooner pour it over someone’s head.”

Zuko laughed, but when a contemplative look crossed over Zhao’s face and he began leaning over the roof as if to look for some hapless soldier to walk by underneath from where they were sitting, Zuko lurched forward to pull him back.

“No! Don’t actually do that!”

“Oh come on, it’s just tea –”

“You are not pouring it over some innocent person’s head –”

“What if it was someone who’s pissed me off? Have you ever thought about that?”

“That’s not the point! Oh for spirit’s sake, I can’t believe I’m telling a grown ass man he can’t dump tea on top of someone’s head –”

“You wouldn’t have to if you just let me –”

“NO!” Zuko yelped, forcefully tugging Zhao back. He hooked his arms around Zhao’s own bare upper arm, practically hugging it to his chest as he wrestled the man from the edge of the roof. He silently thanked whatever spirits were out there that nobody was around to hear this frankly ridiculous argument.

But then Zhao turned to smirk at him before throwing his weight back and sprawling across Zuko like some sort of very heavy, muscular blanket. Zuko only had a few seconds to process his thoughts of _warm, firm,_ and _smells like brine_ before he began flailing under the weight.

“Get off me!”

Zhao _laughed_. Zuko paused in the middle of pushing and shoving to watch with wide eyes as hearty guffaws escaped the admiral above him. _When was the last time he laughed so freely?_ Zuko couldn’t help wondering. _When was the last time Zhao had let go and openly showed enjoyment?_

It was a sudden, saddening thought when Zuko realized this. Just as it was when he remembered he hadn’t laughed like that himself in ages. He almost didn’t notice Zhao roll off him and begin rifling through the basket. He definitely noticed when Zhao tossed a rice ball at his head, though.

“What fillings did they use?” Zhao hummed, picking up his rejected tea and taking a sip (still cringing at the taste).

“I don’t know, I wasn’t watching.” Zuko carefully took a large bite, making sure not to drop any grains of rice. He registered the taste of spicy tuna, but the ‘spicy’ part was a bit… lacking. “Hey, what flavour did you get?”

“Spicy tuna,” Zhao swallowed, tilting the rice ball in his hand to show Zuko. The prince frowned, looking down at his own.

“Is yours spicy? Mine tastes like they only put in half a pinch of spice.”

Zhao took another bite, eyebrows knitting together as he discerned the flavours. “Yes? There’s a decent kick to it.”

“Are my tastebuds just funny today? I feel like mine barely has any kick at all.” Zuko complained, holding out his rice ball. “Here, you try it.”

He’d only registered after offering up the rice ball that Zhao may be against sharing food. Zuko personally didn’t mind sharing with people close to him, especially after having spent three years in banishment, but there was a certain stigma amongst Fire Nation nobility that eating the same piece of food someone else had already taken a bite of was gross.

But Zhao simply plucked the rice ball out of his hand and bit into it.

“Mph, it’s muted. Definitely blander than mine.” Zhao handed it back to Zuko. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your tastebuds, rest assured.”

Another point of similarity between them, then, seeing as Zhao didn’t uphold the rigid standards of etiquette away from the mainland.

“Oh, sure.” And just because he wanted to get his mind off the subject, he asked, “Hey, I’ve been wondering… where, um, where did you place my old crewmates?”

Zhao answered plainly. “They’ve been separated onto different ships throughout the fleet. None of them are on this ship.”

“Right. Okay. Makes sense.” He still couldn’t stop the disappointment from lacing his tone.

“They’re alive and kicking, I’m pretty sure of it.” Zhao tilted his head.

Was that some sort of shoddy attempt at comfort? Zuko wanted to voice it but thought better of it. No need to criticize the other man if he was trying to make an effort. “That’s good, I guess.”

“What, do you miss them?”

Zuko fidgeted where he sat, flashes of memories passing through his mind, attached with a bittersweet mixture of regret and warmth. He and his old crew had only really gotten along with each other recently, with Zuko having finally deigned to know them outside of a professional context after the storm where he let go of the Avatar in favour of ensuring the crew’s safety. Now he regretted not seeking them out earlier. They were a good bunch; it hurt to realize just how many times he’d yelled at them or treated them unfairly.

As if sensing the dissonance of his thoughts, Zhao took it as a cue to bring him out of his wallowing. “When this is all over,” he began, “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted your crew to stay onboard the same ship as you.”

“Really?” Zuko asked, surprised at the offer.

“Yeah,” Zhao smirked back, “that is, if they can stand your presence.”

Zuko shoved him half-heartedly but couldn’t quite conceal a tiny smile. “Shut up. But… thanks.”

“No problem.”

It only occurred to Zuko then and there that Zhao hadn’t asked for anything in return for his favours for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moment of silence for my own tea which I steeped for too long. I still drank it but bleh.
> 
> In other news I'm back in lockdown so I might write a oneshot. Gen fic or Zhaoko? idk tbh. Feel free to suggest lol


	13. Letting Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the first steps to healing include a bit of opening up and a lot of alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASDFGHJKL YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW EXCITED I WAS TO POST THIS CHAPTER.
> 
> Just a heads-up, I don't drink so I'm kinda pulling some of this chapter out of my ass lmao
> 
> TW: underage drinking. Technically 16 is of age in the Avatar world? But the warning is still here regardless.

Zhao had been quiet all morning. In fact, he’d been solemn and withdrawn the past day or so. Zuko initially thought the older man was stewing in anger over something, but the contemplative look that had made its home on his face suggested otherwise. Zuko hadn’t been sure if he should press, so he kept his head down and opted to wait and see if Zhao would let slip what was bothering him.

Zhao being Zhao, offered no prior warning before he let loose whatever it was he had been ruminating over. It was when they were walking down one of the hallways that the admiral lets it burst out like a caged animal free of its restraints.

“I have a favour to ask of you,” Zhao said abruptly, stopping in the middle of the hall.

“Uh… okay.” Zuko replied, surprised by the sudden outburst. “Shoot.”

“I was thinking about what your uncle said about letting things go and finding closure…” the admiral hesitated.

“And?” Zuko prompted.

There wasn’t anyone in the hallways or the general vicinity with them, but Zhao still looked around covertly. “And I thought maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try it. I’m not looking to make a grand gesture, but – I had an idea of what to do. It’s a small thing that I’ll need your help with.”

“What is it?” Zuko asked curiously. He wasn’t sure what he was more surprised by; the fact Zhao had been considering his uncle’s words, or that he’d thrown down part of his pride to ask for his help.

“Akio had a love for squirrel-doves. He’d been one of the few musically talented people on the ship and he always said the best sound to his ears were the song of squirrel-doves. I know it’s not much, but I thought I could send one his way. Utilizing fire shaping, that is.” Zhao explained as he let a few flickers of flame dance across his fingers.

“A message to the heavens?” Zuko reached over, grabbing control of the other man’s flames and starting to experiment. It shouldn’t be too hard – like creating a pigeon-chimp only with a few minor adjustments. Zhao allowed his fire to siphon into Zuko’s hands, relinquishing control.

“In a way, I guess.” He clasped his hands behind his back for lack of anything better to do. “To let him know that he… was in my thoughts after his death and that I acknowledge his companionship.”

“Do you think that will help you?” Zuko asked, extinguishing the fire as soon as he had a feel for how to shape it.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t give thought to it,” Zhao replied, meeting Zuko’s eyes. The sincerity was there, almost foreign in contrast to the laced falsity Zuko was so used to seeing in those shades of amber. “Are you willing to offer your instruction?”

“Sure,” Zuko agreed. “I can help you with that.”

“Good,” Relief clung to the edges of his voice. “What do you want in return?”

“Nothing,” Zuko frowned. “I wouldn’t take advantage of something like this.”

Zhao frowned. “I’m offering something in return with no strings attached and you don’t want it?”

“Believe it or not, not everything needs to have a price tag,” Zuko scoffed. “People can do nice things just because they feel like it.”

“Right,” Zhao said faintly. “Right.” It’s hard, he wants to say, when you’ve grown up knowing everything is a transaction. He’s not used to charity. It gnaws at him if he knows he’s indebted to someone. It almost feels like it leaves an oily film that covers the roof of your mouth.

“Do you want to do it now?” Zuko asked, oblivious to his thoughts as he peered through one of the portholes and eyed the settling dark of the evening.

“Alright.” Zhao replied quietly, leading the way outside.

The upper deck was as peaceful as always. It was a cloudless night, and the stars winked brightly in the distance. Zuko carefully slid off his helmet, setting it off to the side before joining Zhao where he stood at the railings.

“I know it’s more traditional to carry out a candlelit vigil, but…” Zhao’s hand ghosted over the top of the metal. “He never was one for tradition, anyway.”

“I’m sure he’d like what you’re doing right now,” Zuko assured, unsure if that helped even in the slightest. Judging from the slight relaxation of Zhao’s shoulders, it felt like he said the right thing.

“How would I start?”

“The blob first, and then we’ll extend the wings and tail.” Zuko formed a tightly packed mass of fire in his hands. Zhao followed suit, imitating each action closely. He supposed it was thanks to abundant practice with fire shaping over the past few weeks that made this an easier process than he’d initially predicted.

Wasn’t it funny? A skill he’d mocked as useless had now become a key part of his supposed ‘healing’.

A fluffy tail curled upwards, pointing towards the squirrel-dove’s main body. Rudimentary paws followed, a tiny beak, and finally, widespread wings.

It was ready.

Zhao gave it one forlorn glance, muttered a quick prayer, and thrust his hands upwards, letting the squirrel-dove take flight. They watched it flutter away into the night, dissipating as Zhao let go of his control over the fire. He heaved out a breath, feeling the weight that had nestled inside his chest ever since that fateful night alleviate.

The prince’s quiet voice piped up next to him. “Will you tell me something about him?”

It might’ve been the incessant need of refusing to owe anything to anyone that made Zhao oblige. That, or his own nostalgia of a friendship long passed. “Akio came from a working class family. He was a mediocre firebender, but his true love was in music. He had an unparalleled talent in the guzheng. I bet your uncle would’ve adored him. He made friends with everyone… it was effortless how he did it. Which is why I guess it was such a shock when he… you know, jumped.”

“You don’t regret his friendship though, right?”

“… No,” Zhao said softly. “I don’t.”

Fuck all the events that happened over the past few weeks to dredge the pits of his memory, upturning it like someone combing through silt and sand. In any case, it was easier than he thought it’d be to admit he didn’t regret spending time in Akio’s company. A part of him would like to think Akio didn’t regret it either.

Zuko cleared his throat, drawing his attention again. “What about the soldiers that got caught with the candle?”

“What about them?” Zhao asked, puzzled.

“Do you want to do something for them as well?”

“I didn’t know them well enough to…” Zhao gestured with his hands, letting a few tiny sprigs of flame to spring from them. Did he even want to? He doesn’t feel remorse for their death, not really. He can accept that he was the one responsible for giving them the candles, but their deaths were their own fault. He’d warned them and they went against his orders. Even if he tried to prevent their execution, he wouldn’t have been able to justify their actions, not when they had dug their own graves.

That didn’t seem to matter to the prince, who had lifted his hands and was already preparing to summon fire to his fingertips. “How many of them were there?”

“Four.”

Zhao wasn’t sure why Zuko felt more for the soldiers than he did, but he doesn’t stop him from creating four tiny fire lilies and allowing them to drift to the ocean swells below, illuminating the dark of the night as they went. They hit the water with a sizzle, scintillating in a shower of sparks across the water.

“Does that work?” Zuko flashed him a questioning glance.

Zhao stared at the last sparks fading into the dark and let out a deep exhale. “… Yeah, that works.” Now he wondered why he even had to question the extent of Prince Zuko’s sympathy. He thinks about why the prince was banished in the first place and it’s startingly obvious where the need to honour those soldiers stemmed from. Prince Zuko had the opposite problem to the rest of his family. It wasn’t that he cared too little, it was because he cared too much.

Maybe a few weeks ago he’d laugh at the notion, scorn him for being born with a heart too big and compassion too puissant. Now? Now he thinks that maybe it isn’t such a bad thing Zuko has more empathy in his little finger than Ozai has in his entire body, not when he’s been instrumental to cutting loose one of the chains of Zhao’s past. The prospect that he’s no longer so quick to repudiate the prince’s compassionate nature almost terrifies him, causes dread to fill his very being, yet he can’t help reaching out and grasp for it.

Zhao files it away to think about another day. Right now, he looks at the prince, sees his features outlined in the moonlight, traces the serene smile on his lips with his eyes. Again, the traitorous thought of maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t mind letting this person slip past the defences he’s been holding up for so long surges forward with frightening speed.

“… Thanks.”

Zuko jolted out of his thoughts. “Hm?”

Zhao looked as awkward as Zuko felt that night he was comforted in the aftermath of his nightmares. The expression is so out of place on Zhao’s face Zuko needed a moment to register it.

“Thank you. For indulging in my request. And… offering your support.” He doesn’t just mean tonight; he also means the night the prince made a valiant attempt to divert his attention from bitter reminiscence as they lay awake reliving their memories, as well as only a few nights ago when he didn’t say a single word of comfort yet held Zhao’s trembling hand until the tremors passed and he felt comfortable in his own skin again. It feels only appropriate to thank him for these things. Zhao hates being in anyone’s debt, and remarkably enough, he’s not above showing gratitude if it’s well-deserved.

He wasn’t sure if the message had been received but Zuko shoots him a warm look and stares back at him with understanding eyes. It strikes Zhao again, like a blow to the gut that knocks the wind out of him, how they’ve learned to read so intimately between the lines. It’s a language Zhao’s only seen between the closest of people, such as combatant pairs who can read each other’s body language flawlessly to understand what their partner’s next move is. He had always thought he’d never even come close to having a chance to learn the language yet here he is, sharing a common tongue with the prince.

“For the record, I think you did a good thing.” Zuko offered a small smile up at him.

Zhao’s fingers ached to twitch and fidget in discomfort, so he falls back upon a blasé front. “Well, I would hope I didn’t go through all that effort for nothing.”

“The fact you made an effort is what counts, I would think.” Zuko said, nodding wisely.

“Are you trying to channel your uncle right now?” Zhao chuckled, amused. It doesn’t matter how poor of an impersonation it is, somehow it lightens the mood in an instant.

“It felt appropriate,” Zuko rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Is sage advice not what you want right now?”

“I think what I want is a fucking drink.” Zhao admitted, the beginnings of a grin curling at the edges of his lips.

Zuko couldn’t help the quiet huff of laughter that escapes. “Are you serious?”

“It’s tradition to raise a glass to a fallen comrade according to sailor laws. Even… even if they were a deserter or forsaken soldier.” There was something lodged in Zhao’s throat as he said it; perhaps it was a manifestation of his acceptance.

“Really?”

“The navy doesn’t condone it, but sailors have always operated on their own terms.” Never forget your roots, he could practically hear General Iroh say. Well, these were his roots. He had been a sailor before a soldier. Agni knows how long it’s been since he’d acknowledged that.

“Alright then.” Zuko leaned back against the railings. “So you’re gonna have a drink now?”

“After the stint from the other night and getting run ragged yesterday? Not to mention going against everything I’ve learned from Shu literally five minutes ago? Yeah, I deserve a drink.” Zhao hesitated just as he was about to extend the invitation. General Iroh would probably kill him, but the princeling was sixteen. It wasn’t like he would be doing anything illicit. In fact, there wasn’t even a need to keep it clandestine. “What do you think about joining me?”

Zuko blanched. “I think you’re a terrible influence.”

What a goody two-shoes. For a banished prince who had led the life of a sailor for three years running, he was terribly dreary. “Do you want to join me for a drink or not?”

There was a scant half-second’s worth of hesitation. “Okay.”

“Come on, then.” Zhao smirked triumphantly, beckoning him away from the railings. “If I’m going to get inebriated, I’m not going to do it out on deck for everyone to see.”

First, they had to take a trip to the cargo hold. Zuko hung back awkwardly as Zhao navigated through crates, selecting bottles seemingly at random. Eventually with an armful of alcohol, they made their way back to his quarters where he cleared a space on his desk and set down his haul.

“Pick your poison,” Zhao made a sweeping gesture over two bottles of wine and a small, lone bottle of whiskey.

“Uh,” Zuko said, still overwhelmed by the small selection. “What’s good for your first time having alcohol?”

“We’ll start you off with something weaker,” Zhao picked up a bottle of wine and uncorked it. “It’s a sweet red wine. I don’t typically touch this stuff, but it’s a good place to start for you. Decent vintage, straight from the vineyards of Caldera. A taste of home, if you will.”

He poured half an inch into a glass and handed it to Zuko. “Small sips,” he advised, “don’t go spitting it out now.” For himself, he poured out a generous shot of whiskey.

The prince gave a curious sniff of his wine, watching the ruby liquid swirl around in the confines of his glass. Zhao held back a laugh at the apprehensive look on his features. It was definitely a refreshing sight from the usual bull-headed determination of most hot-blooded teenagers when they tried alcohol for the first time. He’d lost count how many times his young recruits attempted to imbibe the strongest drinks there were in a bid to prove their machismo, only to _thoroughly_ regret it a few hours later.

He drew himself out of his musings. There was a more pressing matter at hand.

“To Akio,” he raised his glass, holding still for a sombre moment. Zuko lifted his and clinked it against Zhao’s. The admiral tossed back his drink back with confident swallows while Zuko heeded the advice and took a small, careful sip of his wine. He rolled the flavour over his tongue consideringly and was hit with hints of fruity sweetness – earthy, and slightly acidic.

It wasn’t not bad at all, emboldening Zuko to take increasingly confident swallows of the wine. He glanced over to see how Zhao was faring, only to watch with wide eyes as the other man tipped back a two more shots in succession with ease. He’d seen the crew on the _Wani_ drink before of course, but they usually took their time, nursing their drinks as they threw jabs at one another. Then again, alcohol had been something of a luxury and Uncle had enforced a rule to not drink to excess.

Speaking of excess, Zuko felt the need to say something. A hungover, crankier than usual Zhao did not sound like a pleasurable experience for anyone. “We shouldn’t drink too much,” he warned, “I don’t wanna have a hangover in the morning.”

“I didn’t think your uncle would even let you know what a hangover is,” Zhao chortled, “and anyway, we can always burn it out of our system.”

“Uncle never let me drink. He always caught the crew when they tried to sneak me some.” Nostalgia of the memory seemed to lace his next sip of wine. Then he paused. “Wait, we can what?”

“Burn it out. Firebending lesson number whatever: firebenders can ignite the alcohol in their blood and evaporate it. Instant hangover prevention.” Zhao punctuated this with another swallow of whiskey.

Zuko peered at the other man’s face, unsure if he was joking or not. “You’re not kidding?”

“I’ve gotten drunk off my ass countless times and been perfectly sober for meetings the following morning,” Zhao laughed. “Of course I’m not kidding. You just reek of alcohol while you’re purging it out of your system, but a shower fixes that up in no time.”

“Oh,” Zuko said, still somewhat shocked by the revelation. “Alright.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it does take a certain amount of skill. Although, every sailor’s had a drink pass their lips,” Zhao tilted his head to the side. “I’m surprised your Uncle managed to keep you away from it this whole time.”

“He doesn’t think it makes a good example on impressionable youths. The crew would always head to the nearest tavern when they had the chance,” Zuko grimaced. “Sometimes they’d come stumbling back loudly talking about how they wished they had a ‘pretty little thing’ on their arm.” He made a face. “Uncle wasn’t a fan of that.”

“I can’t imagine he would be,” Zhao knocked back another drink, enjoying the burn that traversed down his throat. “But you know, the love life of a sailor isn’t the most desirable. It’s always either someone waiting at home or a whore waiting at port.”

“I never associated you with a love life,” Zuko prompted curiously, swirling the wine in his glass and observing how the sanguine imprints from where it had sloshed against the glass ran back down in faint trails.

“You wouldn’t.” Zhao reached out for the bottle of wine this time, tipping it into his glass. “No time to commit. Always on the move, from ship to ship, port to port, battle to battle. Nobody sane would look at that and say _‘wow, that looks like an excellent opportunity to settle down and make a life with someone!’_ ”

Zuko burst out laughing. It was probably the alcohol that had loosened both their tongues and their inhibitions, but there was something hilarious about the way Zhao said it, in a mockingly high-pitched voice along with wide-eyed false sincerity. It was something Zuko would never have thought he’d see in a million years.

“You could always have a romance with one of your subordinates,” Zuko suggested between snickers. Zhao scoffed good-naturedly and shook his head.

“There’s usually only one reason a subordinate would seek to fuck their superior officer.” Zhao took a sip of his wine. “Easiest way to climb the ranks? Be easy in general.”

Zuko wrinkled his nose. “Charming.”

“Spawned a series of ballads,” Zhao agreed. “ _’Love on the High Seas’_ is not as innocent as it sounds.”

“You gonna sing it?”

Zhao leaned forward in his seat. “You are not to repeat any of this to General Iroh. This whole drinking thing, or what you’re about to hear.”

“I get the alcohol part, but is the song that bad?” Zuko asked, curiosity roused.

Zhao grinned and opened his mouth to begin the first bawdy verse as answer. “ _Oh, she’s a saucy li’l harlot wi’ a bust to rival –_ ” __

“Okay, never mind!” Zuko yelped, face burning.

The admiral cackled. “Ha! If you think that’s bad, you’d combust if you ever heard Admiral Shu sing the song!”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hard to explain. Shu had a salacious lifestyle, so when he sung the words, well, he meant every single one.” Zhao rubbed his throat. “His singing voice had a very… let’s just say, risqué quality to it. It’s a whole different experience to what I can offer.”

“You have a nice voice,” Zuko offered, “Uncle likes it too.”

The compliment barely registered as Zhao shook his head in amusement. “Can’t believe this is the… what, third, fourth time I’ve sang in front of you?”

“I didn’t force you to, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” Zuko defended, putting down his glass. Zhao drained whatever was left in his own and put a hand up in mock surrender.

“I’m not accusing you of anything.” He hummed lightly, a soft thrum in the back of his throat. “Although, I suppose it’s rather gratifying to sing again.”

“Again?” Zuko looked up in the middle of refilling his glass.

“Sailor of a father, remember? Dear old dad used to sing me sea shanties instead of lullabies when I was younger.”

“How young would that be?” The prince took a careful sip. He decided to remain on the cautious side, still wary of inducing the rowdy, embarrassing behaviour he’d seen from drunkards at ports.

Zhao’s answer was immediate, as if he had ingrained the exact timing of his life events in his mind. “Younger than five.” He poured himself another shot of whiskey. “Sea shanties and legends, those were the only stories he knew. I loved them, anyway. Badgered him incessantly for them whenever it was bedtime. I usually got what I wanted. It was nice while it lasted.” A sudden, traitorous lump manifested in his throat. He took a swallow of his drink, letting the burn smooth it down.

_‘Seapup, I don’t have enough stories to last until you grow up into a seadog.’_

He cleared his throat. “We all have to grow up someday to shoulder our responsibilities. So, here we are.”

“What do you think you’d be doing if you never enlisted in the navy?” Zuko asked, curiosity etched into his tone.

“Probably involved in the family business,” Zhao shrugged. “Tied down to politics and doing my bit as a socialite. It’s doable, but I’m not a fan of that lifestyle.”

“I’d imagine life on the mainland would be more comfortable than sailing for months on end, though.”

“The sea is just as much a home as the mainland for me.” Zhao said, rolling his empty glass idly in his hands. “Sure there are downsides, but this is where the epitome of freedom lives.”

“Don’t you think it gets lonely sometimes?”

Zhao paused for a moment. “Maybe. It’s a curse for any sailor, really. Always leaving people to wait at port for your return.”

“Doesn’t sound like a good opportunity for romance indeed.” Zuko muttered.

Zhao raised his glass to that. “Exactly my point. There’s no one waiting for me at home back on the mainland and that makes things so much easier.”

“That’s good, I guess.” Zuko said, unsure if he completely agreed with that statement.

“You don’t have a pretty thing waiting for you now, do you?” There was a mischievous smirk hidden behind the glass.

“No,” Zuko denied. “I left when I was thirteen. Hardly any time for romance.”

 _‘Left,’_ Zhao noted. His highness still wasn’t willing to face the term ‘banishment’ head-on. Oh well. He did wonder, though, if Ozai decided to milk any potential use out of him anyway. “No arranged marriage? That’s a common thing, especially amongst royalty. You’re of marriageable age now, typically you would’ve been betrothed years ago.”

Zuko winced. “I think my Father was considering it. I might’ve ended up marrying Mai; one of Azula’s friends.”

The name sent a ring of familiarity through his mind as he sounded out her name, testing it on his tongue. “Mai… Mai… Ukano’s daughter?”

“You know her?” Zuko looked up, surprised. 

“I know of her.” Zhao shrugged dismissively. A gloomy girl, he remembered. He’d seen her at a party or two whenever he was forced to attend them to upkeep relations. She’d always been tucked away in a corner, ever silent and watchful of other partygoers. He’d never spoken to her, too busy mingling with people of more importance. “Dour girl, more than a little sulky, has a younger brother?”

“She has a what?” Zuko blinked in shock.

“A younger brother. I don’t remember his name. He’s barely of speaking age, so maybe you wouldn’t have heard?” Like his sister, Zhao had only seen the boy a handful of times, usually in the arms of his mollycoddling parents. They’d fawned over him endlessly, and he couldn’t help notice how they’d cast aside their own daughter for a new plaything.

“Oh…” Zuko drained the rest of his wine. “Yeah, that probably explains it.”

Zhao immediately nabbed the wine from the table and topped up Zuko’s glass, sensing a downturn of his mood.

“So you might’ve been matched with her?” Zhao tried to picture it. The only thing that came to mind was a rather… sullen-looking couple. Something about that image made him want to squirm, so he tossed back whatever was left in his glass to subdue it.

“Maybe,” Zuko clasped his glass in both hands. “Probably not anymore.”

“Did you like her?” He asked purely out of curiosity, not because of any undue reason.

“I don’t know.” Zuko said honestly. “Maybe? Azula always teased us when she heard there was a chance we could’ve gotten engaged. Called us a cute couple and everything. It was really embarrassing but – you know, I might’ve felt something for her? From all the pressure of everyone believing we’d get married? It’s hard to say; we were only kids, after all.”

“Childhood crushes are hardly an indication of true feelings.” Zhao leaned back against his chair, setting his glass down.

“What about you? Are you having an arranged marriage?”

“I guess it’s the norm amongst the upper class, but it’s not expected of me.” A pause. “Well, that might be a lie. My mother’s always pressured me about finding a wife, but I’ve ducked my way out of it so far. Besides, I always preferred men.”

“Exclusively?”

“Yeah,” Zhao shrugged. “Women don’t do it for me. I know my taste isn’t a cause for concern, but being the only child of the family, Mother always wanted the family legacy to be carried on in the traditional way.”

Zuko nodded in sympathy. Whilst the Fire Nation was accepting of different sexualities, tradition was still highly revered amongst nobility. He looked down into his glass contemplatively. What with how candid Zhao was being in spilling the details of his personal life, he felt like contributing a moment of honesty of his own. “Um… you wouldn’t judge me on my sexuality, would you?”

Zhao snorted. “Do I need to hold up a sign to announce I like men? As much as I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things with you, rest assured I’d be the last person to judge you on that.”

Zuko bit his lip. Mai had been the only person he’d ever thought of in a romantic context, mostly because they had expectations of a betrothal. As soon as he was banished, all thoughts of their potential engagement had fled his mind. On the occasion he did think of her, he couldn’t quite correlate the girl he knew to any concrete feelings. It just didn’t click, not when she couldn’t possibly be the same girl he knew from childhood.

What was more troubling, as he figured out over the years of his banishment, was a budding attraction to men. It never led to anything serious, only subtle cues and hints like his gaze being drawn to the muscled forearms of shipyard workers, or the deep, throaty laugh of young soldiers sitting in bars he passed by. He’d never spoken about it to anyone, mostly because he was too mortified with his findings. That, and who would he talk to? The crew on the _Wani_ were made up of adults decades older than Zuko. Uncle? He’d probably combust on the spot if he had to sit through a conversation about anything related to romance with his uncle. He chanced another look at Zhao, who was sipping on his drink with content, half-lidded eyes.

Should he say it? The other man was fully confident with himself, throwing his sexuality out in the open. Zuko licked his lips, now understanding why alcohol was so favoured when making nerve-wracking decisions. It felt like each swallow pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

Fuck it.

“Okay, well, I think I like guys.” The confession spilled out like how the wine spread over his tongue.

Zhao offered a lazy smirk, eyelids still heavy. “Congratulations.”

“That’s it?” He couldn’t help blurt out incredulously. He wasn’t expecting veritable pomp to follow his admittance, but he was expecting something, well, more than a simple ‘congratulations’.

“First time you said it out loud?”

“First time I said it to someone else.” Zuko affirmed. He still couldn’t help feeling that this whole thing was rather… anticlimactic.

Zhao grabbed the whiskey and gave Zuko a quick pour. “Calls for a celebratory drink, then.”

“I thought the whole point of busting out the alcohol was to toast your friend.” Zuko sniffed at the amber liquid. Kind of smoky, somewhat like oak.

“Eh,” Zhao waved a dismissive hand, “what’s wrong with both at once?”

“You’re a terrible influence.” Zuko repeated, taking a swallow of the whiskey.

… and nearly spit it out.

“ _Holy shit how have you drunk nearly the entire bottle?!”_ Zuko coughed, throat burning and tears nearly welling up in his eyes. Zhao burst into laughter over the sound of Zuko’s sputtering.

“Welcome to the sailor life,” he snickered, reaching over to pat Zuko’s back. “There, there. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t think I like the sailor life,” Zuko grimaced, wiping his mouth. The tingling sensation was beginning to subside, but the unpleasantness of the surprise lingered.

“Oh come on, now.” Zhao waved his empty glass around. “You haven’t even had the full experience yet.”

“What more could there possibly be?” Zuko groused.

“The obligatory discussion of our sex lives, for one.” Zhao laughed again at Zuko’s horrified expression. “Ah, stop being so awkward about it. Knew your uncle was sheltering you too much.”

“Just because I admitted to liking both guys and girls doesn’t mean it’s an invitation to talk about my non-existent sex life.” Zuko grumbled.

“You could still talk about the basics,” Zhao sniggered. “Like… you ever kissed a girl?”

Zuko flushed. He didn’t know if it was something about the environment, but he found it easy to answer questions he’d normally never entertain without abundant stuttering. “Azula dared Mai to kiss me one time.”

“Oh?” Zhao raised an eyebrow and grinned. “How cute.”

“Shut up, it wasn’t like that.” Zuko bit the back of his hand in embarrassment. “She wouldn’t stop bothering her until she did it. So she did. It was just a peck, lasted like half a second. Probably less.” Zuko looked up at the other man hesitantly. “… Have you?”

“What?”

“Kissed a girl.”

“Once or twice,” Zhao said flippantly, “hated it. Guys, on the other hand…”

Zuko felt the blood in his cheeks run hotter. “Oh. Uh,”

Zhao snickered at Zuko’s awkward expression. “No need to look at me like that. I’m not some degenerate who traipses across the world fucking people left and right.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Zuko groaned, putting his face in his hands. “This is just so awkward to talk about.”

Zhao leaned back against his chair, looking like he had absolutely no care in the world. “There’s nothing wrong or bad talking about it. I’m surprised how sheltered you are about these sorts of things. Sailors aren’t exactly renowned for being genteel. I’m telling you, what we’re talking about right now is tame compared to what I had to sit through with Shu.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“No,” Zhao gave a sharklike smile. “I don’t think you do.”

Zuko grimaced and drained the rest of the whiskey in his glass, doing his best to not pull a face. He’ll probably stick to wine for now.

“So, you’ve kissed a girl. Or more accurate to say, the other way round.” Zhao chuckled as he set down his glass and picked up the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. “Have you ever kissed a guy?”

Zuko nearly choked on the last dregs of his drink. “Um,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “No. No, I haven’t.”

“Ever been curious?” Zhao asked, lazily swirling the last of the whiskey in the bottle before swigging the whole lot of it down. Zuko watched Zhao’s Adam’s apple bob with each swallow, mesmerized.

“Uh – what? Oh, yeah, I guess.” He had a suspicion the red creeping up his neck wasn’t completely due to all the alcohol he’d consumed. “Um, but it’s not like I could go up to just anyone and, you know –” Zuko waved a hand in a poor attempt to convey what he was trying to say.

“Sure you can,” Zhao placed the empty bottle back on the desk, eyes a little glazed with inebriation. “Just go up to someone you at least kind of like and ask them if they want to… relieve some tension, so to speak.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” Zuko winced, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Zhao tutted in mock disapproval. “And there’s the first problem – no initiative.”

“I don’t even know if I’ll like it.” Zuko laughed nervously. “Admitting I like men is one thing, but kissing them? I mean, I guess I won’t know until I try it.”

Zhao stared at him with all seriousness. There was the slightest flush on his face from the alcohol he had drank, but his eyes were mostly focused. He could probably pass off as a little tipsy, despite Zuko having watched him down nearly an entire bottle of whiskey. Granted, it was a small bottle, but he’d still consumed a considerable amount.

“… What?” Zuko asked after Zhao had stared at him silently for a few, long moments.

“Do you want to try?”

“T-Try?” Zuko stuttered out. Zhao couldn’t possibly be suggesting what Zuko thought he was… could he?

“Yeah,” Zhao smirked. “Satisfy your curiosity and all that.”

“With you?”

“Who else would you try it out with?”

Zuko’s face felt hot enough to fry an egg on. Yes, he’d always been curious what it felt like to kiss another man, but – but with Zhao?

Admittedly, there had been a… repressed tension of sorts between them the past few days, and yes, there had been a strange fluttering in his gut and chest when Zhao did something that tugged at _something_ inside Zuko, like when he had pulled the other man from the edge of the roof to stop him from pouring tea over some poor innocent’s head – or – or even those times Zuko had glanced up to catch a glimpse of the man as they were walking around the deck and the sunlight just manages to catch the amber of his eyes, or when the wind tousled his hair just so, or when a tiny smile would soften his entire face, or when the mischievous streak Zuko had no idea Zhao possessed rears its head at the most inopportune moments –

There was also all the hand holding they’d been doing.

The way they comforted each other through bad memories and nightmares.

The sly glances they exchanged when they were messing with the crew for fun.

The barely suppressed laughter when they conspired to have one of them distract Iroh long enough for the other to swipe the last red bean bun from the table and split evenly later…

Well, fuck.

What was he supposed to do with this realization?

“What’re you thinkin’ of?” Zhao asked, resting his head in one hand as he eyed Zuko curiously.

“I’m thinking I might take you up on your offer,” Zuko swallowed.

“Yeah?” Zhao breathed. Maybe it was the haze of intoxication, maybe it was the sudden shockwave of memories, maybe it was the way they had let down their guards in a way they hadn’t in a long, long time, but Zuko found himself meeting the other’s eyes with a confidence he didn’t know he possessed.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Zhao replied simply. A strange sense of thrill ran through Zuko’s body at that moment. He swallowed nervously, throat suddenly feeling parched as if he had just crawled out of a desert. How do people even initiate these things? He’d ask, but that’d probably ruin the mood entirely.

To his relief, Zhao took the lead, getting up and pulling Zuko out of his own chair so they were standing face-to-face. A broad hand framed the side of his face and Zhao ducked his head down a little, closing the space between them until their faces were only an inch apart. Zuko could feel the thumping of his heart becoming more distinct.

Amber eyes flickered over his as if the other man could hear his nervousness.

“Don’t overthink it,” Zhao murmured, the soft puff of his breath grazing over Zuko’s lips. “Just let yourself… go with it.”

Zuko forced himself to give a minuscule nod. Zhao moved closer, closing his eyes at the same time as he carefully, deliberately, angled his head.

Zuko took a deep breath, steeling himself. He closed his eyes.

And leaned in.

It wasn’t like those magical moments he’d read in those terrible, sappy romance novels he’d sometimes glimpsed at (he never intended to _buy_ them, he was just curious, he swears). There were no fireworks going off behind his eyelids, no tingling warmth that spread to his fingertips, no sudden desire to melt in the other man’s arms…

But at the same time, the brush of Zhao’s facial hair against his skin, the shivers that ran up his spine as Zuko hesitantly grabbed onto the man’s shoulders, the way he could feel every movement of his mouth against his own – it was everything he thought it’d be and more, as cheesy as it sounds.

Zhao was a rough kisser, Zuko faintly registered. Not that he had the experience to put all kisses onto a spectrum, but Zuko was fairly sure Zhao would be the opposite of gentle. He kissed like he was in battle. Not in that he was aiming to draw blood or beat him into submission, but it was in the way he nipped at Zuko’s lower lip lightly and how the ardour in each kiss seemed to trail fire across his lips and spread to his skin like a wildfire. He could practically taste the whiskey on his breath. There was the lightest swipe of a tongue against his lips before Zhao slowly moved away, although he kept their foreheads pressed together.

“… Okay?” Zhao asked, mouth brushing against Zuko’s with every syllable formed and voice barely louder than the softest whisper.

“Okay,” Zuko confirmed. “More than okay.” He slowly opened his eyes, meeting Zhao’s own half-lidded amber ones, glinting in the light of the moon like the whiskey he’d consumed just moments before.

It was like a switch had been flipped. Zuko surged forward, pressing their lips together again. Zhao complied, wrapping one arm around his waist and cupping the back of his head with his other free hand.

All the tension that had hung over them seemed to spill over into the intensity of their kisses as Zuko copied Zhao’s earlier movements and started nipping at the other man’s lip. Zhao groaned low in his throat and Zuko lapped it up, pressing closer and sliding his hands from where they were pressed against Zhao’s chest to curl them around his neck.

Zhao tugged him impossibly closer and tilted his head, deepening the kiss and letting a ragged breath escape in-between them. Zuko fumbled, not entirely sure what to do, and accidentally turned his head too much too quickly, clumsily bumping noses with Zhao.

“Ow,” the other man pulled away. Thankfully he didn’t look offended, just mostly amused.

Zuko blushed. Of course it was inevitable he’d mess up sooner or later. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his own nose gingerly. It didn’t hurt, not really, but it definitely ruined whatever rhythm they had going.

“S’fine.” Zhao smirked, leaning back. “First time, I get it.”

“Uh, yeah.” Zuko slowly released his grip on Zhao’s frame. “Sorry, um – I think I got a little carried away.”

“I wasn’t exactly protesting,” Zhao assured. “Well? Curiosity satisfied?”

Zuko licked his lips, tasting the faint traces of whiskey. “… Yeah. Uh, very satisfied.”

He’s not sure how to proceed, no one’s ever sat him down and taught him the basics of _‘what to say after you made out with a person you thought you hated but turns out you’ve gradually developed an attraction towards.’_

There’s a desire to say something, anything – he’s not sure what, he doesn’t want to make a mistake, but he also can’t just leave it like this. Zuko watched Zhao, who was running his tongue over his lip as if to take in the taste of whatever alcohol had been left imprinted over it. Zhao noticed him staring, smirked, reached out with gentle fingers and closed Zuko’s mouth, which was just the slightest bit agape as he searched for the words.

“You could use practice,” Zhao remarked, letting go of his chin.

“Are you offering?” It comes out flirtatious, even when Zuko didn’t intend to. He marvels at himself for a moment, privately stunned by how composed and, dare he say smoothly, he was handling the situation.

Zhao looked pleased. “I could, if you’re searching.”

It’s tempting to say yes immediately, to ignore all rationale and dive into this new thing he’s discovered with someone he’s come to see in a new light. He would, usually. Impulsivity is a woeful part of him he’s never been able to shake off but this time, logic stays his hand.

“I just want to make sure,” Zuko said with a parched throat, “where do we stand?”

The smirk on Zhao’s face slid off. Zuko winced, afraid he had said the wrong thing. But he can’t bring himself to regret it. No, he’d rather clear the air and see where they were standing in terms of their ‘relationship’.

It takes a couple moments before Zhao finally said, “I don’t know what’s going on between us. However, I do know that we’ve had… tension.”

Zuko licked his lips nervously. “So… you feel it too, then?”

Zhao lapsed into silence again and Zuko bit his lip, wondering if he said too much. But then Zhao sighed. “You mean the whole dancing around the subject thing we’ve been doing for a while?”

“Yeah,” Zuko fidgeted. “… That.”

“I admit I’ve been deliberately ignoring it for a while. I don’t know about you, but I certainly didn’t expect we’d start… feeling some sort of attraction.”

“Right, well, same here.” Zuko replied, relieved.

“And we’re not exactly in the best time or place to pursue anything more or… explore things further into emotional territory.” Zhao said candidly.

“No,” Zuko agreed. “I barely just came to grips with it.”

Zhao tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desk. “You know, this sort of thing happens more often than you’d think.”

“What?”

“It’s a consequence of staying on a ship for months on end with the same people as your only company. It’s quite common for people to gravitate towards each other and… well, anything could blossom, really.”

“Anything?”

“Anything from a quick fuck to lifelong partnership.” Zhao confirmed. “Look, I’ll be upfront about it: if you’re looking for a romantic investment, that’s not something I’d want to delve into. Not right now, not when we’re heading into battle, in any case. I don’t want to complicate things.”

“No, I get that.” Zuko hurriedly assured him. “I don’t think I want that either. I just… what do people usually do when they’re in this sort of situation?” He waved helplessly between them. It was obvious Zhao was the more experienced of them when it came to things like this, so he hoped the other man had some miraculous solution to it all.

Zhao tapped his chin in thought. “To put it bluntly, there’s physical attraction, but we’re not in the right context for anything more.” He’s sure of it. Not when he doesn’t know what he wants. Not when the prince doesn’t know what he wants. He hasn’t been in this type of situation since he attained captaincy, but he still remembers there were only ever two pathways he took that had never failed him before. “The way I see it, we have two clear options.”

“Let’s hear it then.”

“One: we ignore what happened and carry on. We won’t address this whole thing until… I suppose, we’re under better circumstances. Or two: we can just keep things physical. No strings attached.” Zhao rubbed his face. “The problem with scenario one is that ignoring it usually builds things up even faster. Too many instances where people cave and rush into things regardless of what they promised themselves. It’ll be even harder for us since we spend almost every waking moment with each other.”

“Yeah,” Zuko muttered. “So those are our only two options?”

“They’re the most pragmatic options so far,” Zhao shrugged. The prince looked contemplative and Zhao felt a mix of surprise and amusement by how seriously he was taking it. It’s a far cry from the impulsivity he’s reputable for so Zhao takes the initiative to help him out of his rut. “Listen, it’s late and I think it’s safe to say we’re both rather intoxicated. I suggest we burn off the alcohol and go to bed. We can talk more in the morning after we’ve both had time to think and process.”

Zuko hesitantly nodded. “So we’ll decide in the morning?”

“In the morning,” Zhao promised. “When we’re clear-headed.”

“Okay,” Zuko agreed.

“I suppose now is a good time than any to show you the art of sobering,” Zhao jested, a weak smile cracking on his face. Zuko recognized it for the diversion it was and went along with it. He followed Zhao’s instructions, locating his chi lines and letting them invade his bloodstream, heating it up gradually to evaporate the alcohol.

It’s just as Zhao says. The vapours that rolled off them positively reeked of alcohol. It was like they had both walked out of a distillery with thick, cloying fumes clinging to their skin and clothes. Still, he relished the sensation of the fog slowly dissipating from his mind and letting him think a bit clearer. But even after washing up and taking the moment to be alone with his thoughts, in the end, his head still felt like it was swimming through a jumbled, sluggish mess.

By the time he stumbled back out into the room, he didn’t know where one thought began and where one ended. It didn’t help when he saw Zhao already in bed, looking just as lost as Zuko felt.

“Can I sleep in the bed tonight?” Zuko asked quietly. “I don’t wanna make up the futon right now.” He wasn’t sure if it was the best idea to sleep in close proximity to the same person his mind was tangled up over, but right now he was too tired to care.

And apparently, so was Zhao.

The admiral threw back the covers and shuffled to one side in wordless invitation. Zuko climbed in next to him gratefully, smushing his face into the pillow. He bid a quick goodnight to the admiral, who responded equally quietly, turned onto his side, and fell into easy sleep without preamble.

While the prince slumbered, Zhao was the furthest thing from tired. No, he was still confused, still trying to make sense of what had happened. His nerves were still buzzing from the traces of alcohol he’d retained in his system and restlessness stirred like a beast in his chest.

He’d told the prince they’d make a decision in the morning, but Zhao had no idea where to begin. Silent rumination only got you so far and the best way Zhao came to decisions was to monologue in front of someone… or something.

He dragged a hand down his face and sat up, carefully watching Zuko for any signs of stirring.

None.

The prince was out cold, clearly sleeping off any traces of the alcohol that still lingered.

Zhao gingerly got out of bed, careful not to jostle the other inhabitant, pulled on some clothes, and made for the kitchens before he could think better of it. There was nobody on this ship he’d be willing to monologue in front of with the assurance that they would not spill his secrets.

But that wouldn’t matter if the other party could not speak.

* * *

“Peach,” Zhao greeted. The komodo rhino cracked one eye open and grunted in reply. They stared impassively at each other for a few, long moments. He cleared his throat. “Peach, I apologize for the intrusion. I realize it is rather late and I have not informed you of a visit in advance.”

She tossed her head in an unvoiced query.

“His highness is not here. I came at my own discretion.”

She snorted, steam escaping from her nostrils.

“Right. Well, yes.” He coughed awkwardly.

_‘What am I doing? This is so embarrassing.’_

But he was already here, and he’d already made the effort to sneak into the kitchens, plus he desperately needed to monologue his thoughts to someone or in this case, some _thing_.

“I brought you something as compensation,” he announced, “your namesake.” Zhao reached into his pocket and withdrew a moon peach. The rhino reacted immediately, tossing her head and stomping one foot in approval. Zhao gingerly held it out, wary of her teeth and horns and well… everything. But like the last time he was here, she carefully pulled it out of his fingers with her mouth and got to work on munching it down.

She flicked her ears. He took it as a sign of permission to begin spilling his thoughts.

“I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. Alcohol expedited the process, I guess. But it’s one thing to start finding someone physically attractive and another to act on it. Don’t get me wrong; there’s no emotional investment, nor do I desire there to be any.”

Peach sniffed at his hand. Zhao complied and tossed another fruit into her mouth. Appeased, she settled back to chewing peacefully.

“Ignoring it would no doubt make it worse. Agni knows how many times I’ve seen it,” Zhao shook his head, leaning against the door of Peach’s stall. “But the alternative? Allies with benefits,” he sighed, tapping his fingers against his arm. “It’d certainly relieve the pressure. And… I suppose I have come to enjoy the prince’s company over the last few weeks.”

Peach came nearer to bump her snout against his arm.

“I wouldn’t mind a physical relationship. It got stale after I became a captain, you know? New recruits asking for a fuck so they could get leeway in terms of promotions or other benefits…” Zhao shook his head. “Better sticking to port whores and brothels, that’s all I can say. At least they don’t care how many medals are pinned to your chest or what kind of perks sleeping with a superior officer entails.”

He tossed another moon peach into Peach’s mouth. She chomped it down with glee, juice spurting down her chin. “I guess it’s a good thing princeling isn’t looking for any of those things, huh? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to pursue it. So long as there’s nothing more than the physical aspect of it.”

She snuffled.

“So that’s that, I guess. I don’t suppose you have any advice for me?”

Another impatient snort.

“Alright, alright, last one.” Zhao handed her the final moon peach. She neatly grabbed it from him but to his surprise, also gently bumped her head against his hand. He slowly reached out, fingers outstretched, and stopped just shy of touching her chin. She stared back at him steadily, docile and looking like she wasn’t about to gore him. But how would he know? He was no animal expert.

He went for it anyway. As soon as he started scratching under her chin, she closed her eyes in pleasure and dropped her head more fully into his hand. Zhao sighed, deciding to indulge in another thought that had been shoved into the back of his mind. What was the harm? He’d already debased himself by seeking out an animal’s company in the first place. The entire week had been about his walls getting torn down, leaving him frantically running around trying to build them back up.

“You know, my mother writes to me every so often urging me to marry. I keep telling her it’s still too early, I’m not in a rush to get tied down to someone for the rest of my life, I still need to focus on my career… obviously, she thinks these are all excuses. And she’s probably right about that. I know I’m not getting any younger but come on, she married my father relatively late.” He stared at her and let out a little chuckle. “I suppose you don’t need to face the same issues. All you have to do is sniff out a male you like and ravage each other right then and there.”

She doesn’t understand and he’s not sure why he almost expected her to. Zhao groaned, slapping a hand against his forehead. “I might’ve gone a little too hard on the alcohol if I’m seriously saying all this to you.”

She wuffed.

“Ha, maybe princeling has a point. Komodo rhinos can’t judge you. All I’m saying is that I don’t want to marry yet. Even if I did, I’ll see my spouse once every few months or sometimes years if they’re lucky. Obviously my parents want me to marry some girl of noble standing. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why they’re always harping on me whenever I go home. They can’t stand the fact I don’t like women in general. They’re traditional like that, you know?”

Peach snorted.

“Jeong Jeong didn’t care.” Zhao muttered. “I’m pretty sure he had a thing with this swordsman a while back. Tsk, Jeong Jeong the Deserter.” He scoffed derisively. “Can’t believe I ever looked up to him. Argh, why can’t I get him out of my mind?”

Peach nudged him again and he obligingly resumed scratching her chin.

“I think it might be because I’ve been spending too much time with General Iroh. There’s just something about him that reminds me of Jeong Jeong. Looking at them now… looking at how General Iroh and Prince Zuko are like around each other… makes me think, what would have changed if I made a different choice that night?”

Peach stared up at him with almost understanding eyes. If he were drunker, he’d be convinced there was sympathy shining in there. It’s an uncomfortable thought.

Zhao pursed his lips. “I’ve said too much already.” He heard the shuffle of Peach’s heavy, hulking body and a soft puff of breath snorted over his hands. It’s gross, but oddly reassuring at the same time. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.” He sighed. “I’ve spilled more about my feelings this past week than I ever have in a year. Probably more.”

She snuffled again and he petted her lightly on the head.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone. I know you can’t speak, but if you have some sort of telepathic link to the brat and somehow alert him of anything, I will personally see to it that you be turned into a komodo rhino skewer and fed to Zu – I mean, the prince. Do I make myself clear?”

Peach tossed her head. Zhao couldn’t stop the chuckle that left him. He’d been finding it easier and easier to let laughs escape him lately. Real ones too, not the biting, sarcastic laughs he’d use to prove a point. Yet another thing that had slipped out of his control. He couldn’t bring himself to care, though. Not when he was miles and miles away from the court, from anyone who would admonish him for daring to show genuine emotion. That was one of the good things about being in the navy, he supposed. Sailors didn’t care what came out of your mouth so long as it didn’t aim to hurt.

Not that Zhao always abided by that unspoken rule, but who would dare question him?

There wasn’t anyone around to humour with this little story, but Zhao was in a better mood so…

“You know, my parents would probably be beside themselves if they knew how many fistfights and bloody scraps I’ve been in just for the hell of it,” he casually said to Peach. “Didn’t even use firebending. Model son right here, am I right?” He barked out another laugh, ignoring the way it rasped out of his throat with tinges of self-deprecation. “Only way to get respect around the ship if you were a lowly recruit. By winning a fight with nothing more than your own brawn and grit.”

Zhao slid down until he was sitting with his knees drawn up and his back pressed against the stall door. His arms crossed on top of his knees and he leaned his head back, hitting the door with a soft ‘thump’ and listening to Peach’s shuffling feet and the soft snorts that escaped her snout.

“If only it were that easy at home,” Zhao whispered into the darkness. “What do I need to do to gain some fucking respect?”

Not for the first time, he wished somebody would tell him.

Not for the first time, nobody answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok look I wrote the whole Peach consultation thing just for laughs but then my brain went 👀 do the sad
> 
> BUT AYEEEE IT FINALLY HAPPENED
> 
> I will clarify that there won't be explicit sex bc my ace ass doesn't have the faintest clue how to capture all the feels/sensations involved lmao. There are some sexy times but it's gonna be relatively ambiguous so up to reader interpretation as to if they go all the way or nah.


End file.
